LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Ki 1  iani 


UCSB  LIBRAR^C 


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in  2008  with  funding  from 

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THE  DRAMATIC  WORKS 
OF  BALZAC 


VOLUME  1. 


he  Dramatic 
Works  of  j^ 
Honore  de  Balzac 


FIRST 

ENGLISH 

TRANSLATION 


\ 


1 

R 

E 

E. 

endereil        into 
n       g      1       i       s       h         b      \- 

de  Valcourt-Vermont 

V 

O     L    U     M     E      1 

\ 

A       U      T       R       I       N 

R 

U      I      N     O      L     A  '  S 
E    S     O     U    R    C     E    S 

P 

A        M        E        L        A 
1         R        A        U        D 

GEBBIE  &  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 

<Tiiaao   AooORDiNa   to   Aot   c>      Conanasa   in    thi 
Yaan    1001.    av 

WILLIAM     H.     LEE 

I   TMB   oFPioa   OP  THa    Liaii*ni*N   op  CoNaaaaa  av 
WASMiNarON,     U.  O. 


Contents 


PAGE 

Introduction, 5 


Plays,  Volume  I. 

Vautrm, 15 

Quinola's  Resources, I47 

Pamela  Giraud 285 

Plays  Volume  II. 

The  Step-Mother, 9 

Mercadet,        .        ,        .        ,         ,        ,        ,  143 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  the  first  time,  to  oar  knowledge,  that  the 
five  plays  constituting  the  Dramatic  Works  of 
Honor^  dc  Balzac  are  rendered  into  the  English 
language.  Certainly  none  of  the  collections  of 
the  famous  Frenchman's  magnum  opus,  issued  in 
England  or  America,  and  so  justly  popular  on 
both  sides  of  the  Ocean,  include  these  two  vol- 
umes which  are  invariably  comprised  in  the  French 
sets  of  the  same  works.  This  singular  omission 
needs  perhaps  a  few  words  of  explanation,  as  a 
kind  of  preface  xo  this  translation. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  well  known  that  publishers 
are  often  overcautious  in  their  acceptance  of 
translated  works  of  fiction.  Indeed  an  author 
has  had  to  gain  a  very  wide  reputation  in  his 
own  country  before  securing  the  remotest  chance 
to  the  honor  of  transference  into  a  foreign  lan- 
guage. Then,  again,  only  such  works  of  his  as 
have  met  with  a  particularly  flattering  welcome 
in  the  original  are  in  demand  outside  of  the  land 
of  his  birth.  Thus  the  probabilities  are  great 
that  the  author  venturing  abroad  will  obtain  but 
a  very  incomplete  bearing,  doubtless,  limited  to 
what  in  the  book- world  is  called  his  "money- 
making^'  successes.  Later,  after  his  death  gen- 
erally, and  in  exceptional  cases  only,   the  comple- 

7 


S  INTRODUCTION 

mentary  works  of  the  foreigner  are  added  to 
the  *'  leaders^'  already  published,  these  additions 
depending  for  their  sale  on  being  included  in 
"editions''  or  "sets." 

In  this  respect,  Balzac,  the  great  Balzac,  has 
not  escaped  the  common  fate.  To  this  day,  and 
when  his  reputation  among  the  English-speaking 
people  has  reached  such  satisfying  proportions, 
those  of  his  books  that  are  really  popular  with 
the  mass  of  the  reading  public  could  be  counted 
upon  the  ten  fingers  of  the  hands,  and  hare  been 
issued^:Under  a  dozen  different  garbs.  The  balance 
of  the  42  volumes  forming  the  collection  of  his 
novels  and  philosophical  works,  are  practically 
unknown,  or  at  least  neglected  by  the  general 
reader.  This  is  doubtless  one  of  the  reasons  why 
publishers — if  they  knew  of  the  existence  of  the 
dramatic  works  of  Balzac — did  not  add  these  two 
remarkable  volumes  to  the  large  collections  already 
on  the  market. 

And  besides,  for  the  public  at  large,  Balzac  is 
essentially  a  novelist,  the  greatest  of  them  all 
in  the  opinion  of  many  literary  lights,  but  with 
the  limitations  of  the  novelist;  just  as  Shakes- 
peare, with  whom  he  is  so  frequently  compared, 
is  distinctively  and  exclusively  a  playwright  and  a 
poet.  This  idea  has  been  so  firmly  implanted  in  the 
foreign  mind  that  it  is  almost  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling that  we  dare  touch  the  curious  error  thus 
fostered  and  entertained,  and  proclaim  the  fact  that 
Balzac  has  written  plays — live  of  them — ,  that  these 
plays  have  all  been  acted  on  prominent  Parisian 
stages  by  actors  of  no  mean  reputation,  and  that 


INTRODUCTION  9 

their  plots,  characters,  and  style  are  of  the  most 
captivating  interest. 

Nor  do  they  belong-  to  what  might  be  called 
the  incubating  period  of  bis  talent,  to  those  long 
years  of  dire  poverty — from  1822  to  1829 — when 
the  struggling  young  author  w^as  issuing  under 
various  noms  de  plume  the  many  stories  included 
since  among  '^  the  novels  of  bis  youth."  No,  the 
dramatic  works  of  Balzac  all  date  from  the  bey- 
day  of  the  prolific  author's  life — from  1838  to 
1850,  the  year  of  bis  death.  Thus  does  fall  to 
the  ground  the  unjust  assertion  made  by  people 
who  never  perused  these  plays  that  they  are  but 
interior  productions  of  either  an  undeveloped  or 
an  exhausted  writer. 

Finally  an  explanation  is  in  order  as  to  the 
comparative  lack  of  success  of  these  productions 
on  the  stage,  as  it  has  bad  evidently  a  serious 
inBuence  on  the  decision  of  foreign  publishers  not 
to  include  them  in  their  sets  of  translations. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  but  two  of  the  works  com- 
prised in  these  volumes  were  positively  rejected 
by  the  hypercritical  public  of  the  "  £rst  nights,'^ 
and  a  sober  judgment  leads  us  to  think  that 
only  oce— Quinola's  Resources— i22j^/2t  be  classed 
as  an  ill-constructed  theatrical  machine.  Of  the 
four  others,  Mercadet  is  still  presented  frequently 
on  the  boards  of  that  famed  sanctuary  of  high  his- 
trionic art — the  Theatre  Francais — and  The  Step^ 
Mother  has  often  been  mentioned  as  a  sure  success 
if  revived  by  a  first-class  company.  Vautrin  and 
Pamela  Giraud  have  certainly  suffered  worse  from 
the  changes  in   ways,  manners  and  habits  of  the 


lo  INTRODUCTION 

people,  and  would  meet  with  a  doubtful  welcome 
from  French  audiences  of  the  present  day;  but 
this,  of  course,  has  little,  if  anything,  to  do  with 
their  intrinsic  merit  and  interest  as  works  of 
literature.  And  this  is  the  point  we  are  particu- 
larly desirous  of  impressing-  upon  the  reader's 
mind  before  he  begins  perusing  these  volumes. 

We  did  not,  without  giving  the  matter  long 
and  serious  thought,  resolve  to  apply  ourselves  to 
produce  as  good  and  faithful  a  translation  of 
Balzac's  Dramatic  Works  as  lay  within  our  power. 
We  read  and  re-read  the  plays  in  the  original  with, 
we  believe,  cool  and  unbiased  attention,  and  it 
was  only  when  the  powerful  interest  that  pervades 
them  all  had  acted  over  us  with  the  usual  magic 
of  the  great  dissector  of  human  hearts  and  minds 
that  we  accepted  our  self  imposed  task,  with  the 
firm  conviction  that  there  was  not  a  page  in 
these  two  volumes  that  would  not  conquer  and 
retain  the  breathless  interest  of  the  reader.  In 
fact  we  consider  these  plays  as  containing  more 
exciting  action  and  more  ingenious  combinations 
than  the  majority  of  the  novelist's  best  stories. 

This  said,  let  us  give  a  paragraph  or  two  to 
the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  each  play,  as  we  have 
avoided  breaking  off  the  interest  of  the  reading, 
by  the  introduction  of  footnotes  in  reference  to 
the  historical  coloring  so  plentifully  used  by  the 
author. 

Vautrin  is,  of  course  a  well-known  character  to 
the  readers  of  Balzac's  novels,  as  the  sinister 
figure  of  the  ex-convict  looms  up  in  its  terrific 
grandeur  in   Perc   Goriot,    Lost   Illusions,   Splendor 


INTRODUCTION  ii 

and  Wretchedness  of  Courtezans  and  The  Last 
Incarnation  of  Vautrin.  In  the  play,  however, 
none  of  these  novels  has  been  drawn  upon  to 
furnish  incidents  or  characters.  It  is  the  case,  in 
fact,  with  every  one  of  the  Balzac  theatrical 
efforts;  they  are  not  in  any  sense  of  the  word 
adaptations  from  any  of  his  published  stories  and 
the  plots  are  as  new  as  they  are  ingenious.  The 
atmosphere,  in  Vautrin,  is  that  of  the  Court  of 
the  Bourbon  kings,  shortly  after  the  second  return 
to  Paris  of  Louis  XVIII.  The  allied  troops  are 
still  in  possession  of  the  country  and  titled  for- 
eigners are  almost  as  numerous  in  the  capital 
as  the  returned  French  nobles.  This  statement 
explains  many  of  the  peculiarities  of  plot  and 
action. 

Quinola's  Resources  brings  us  back  to  the  dark 
days  of  Philip  II.  of  Spain,  at  the  time  of  the 
all-powerful  Holy  OfEce,  or  Spanish  Inquisition. 
In  a  short  preface,  that  preceded  the  first  publica- 
tion of  this  drama,  Balzac  insisted  that  he  had 
discovered  in  old  Spanish  archives  suficient  evi- 
dence that  such  a  boat  moved  by  a  steam-engine 
had  been  truly  constructed  by  a  Spanish  pupil  oi 
the  great  Galileo,  but  had  been  mysteriously 
destroyed  aRer  the  first  successful  experiment. 
It  is  a  far  cry  from  1588-89  to  Fulton's  first  suc- 
cessful steamboat,  The  Clermont,  and  its  trial 
trip  on  the  Hudson,  August  11,  1807.  But  the 
legend,  if  legend  it  be,  is  well  told  and  certainly 
worth  reading. 

Pamela  Giraud   leads  us  back   to  the  period   of 


12  INTRODUCTION 

the  French  Restoration  {1816-1830),  and  to  those 
troubled  times  when  the  old  soldiers  of  Napoleon 
were  plotting  the  return  of  the  '^little  corporal" 
or  the  enthronement  of  that  puny  son  of  his,  the 
Austrian  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  "  I'Aifflon." 

To  the  latter  part  of  this  same  historical  era, 
The  Step'Mother  must  be  ascribed.  No  plotting 
is  mentioned  in  this  superb  drama,  but  the  hatreds 
originating  from  the  Revolutionary  and  Imperia- 
listic periods  are  seen  at  play  in  an  apparently 
peaceful  home  until  they  destroy  its  very  founda- 
tions. 

Mercadet  tells  a  story  of  more  contemporaneous 
interest,  in  fact  a  story  as  fresh  to-day  and  in 
our  own  United  States  as  it  was  in  the  fifties  in 
Paris.  For  it  treats  of  the  wiles  and  tricks  of 
unscrupulous  speculators  and  promoters,  and  it 
needs  but  very  slight  verbal  changes  to  make  the 
whole  story  fit  admirably  some  ill  flavored  inci- 
dent in  the  life  of  the  20th  century  financier. 

With  these  few  words  of  introduction  and 
explanation  we  do  not  hesitate  to  submit  Balzac's 
Dramatic  Works  to  the  judgment  of  the  intelli- 
gent American  reader. 

E.  de  Valcourt'Vermont. 


VAUTRIN 

A  Drama  in  Five  Acts 


Presented  for   the  first   time   at   the    Theatre   de 

la  Porte  Saint  Martin^  in  Paris^ 

March  //,  1840. 


CHARACTERS 

Jacques  Collin,  alias  Vautrin. 

The  Duke  of  Montsork.l. 

The  Marquis  Albert  ok  Montsorel,  his  son. 

Raoul  de  Frescas. 

Charles  Blondet,  alias  Tiik  Chevalier  of  Saint-Charles. 

Francois  Cadet,  alias  The  Philosopher. 

Silk-Thread,  a  cook. 

BuTEUx,  a  janitor. 

Philippe  Boulard,  alias  Lakouraillk. 

A  Police  Captain. 

Joseph  Bonnet,    the  groom   of  the  chambers  of  the  Duchess  of 

Montsorel. 
The  Duchess  of  Montsorel  (Louise  de  Vaudrey). 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaudrev,  her  aunt. 
The  Duchess  of  Christoval. 
Ines  de  Christoval  (Princess  of  Arjos). 
Fklicite,  maid  of  the  Duchess  of  Montsorel. 
Servants,  policemen,  detectives,  etc. 


7"^!?  action  takes  place  in  Paris,  shortly  after  the  ^noiul  trtnrtt 
of  the  Bourbons,  in  i8i6. 


VAUTRIN 


FIRST    ACT 
{A  Drawing-room  in  the  Montsorel  manaion.) 

SCENE     I 

The  Duchess  of  Montsorel.     Mademoiselle 
DE  Vaudrey. 

the  duchess. — And  so  you  waited  for  me?  How 
kind  of  you ! 

mademoiselle  de  vaudrey. — What  can  be  the  mat- 
ter with  you,  to-day,  Louise?  For  the  first  time  in  the 
twelve  years  that  we  have  grieved  together,  I  see  you 
with  a  happy  face.  To  one  who  knows  you  as  I  do,  it 
is  positively  alarming. 

THE  duchess. — Oh,  my  joy  must  manifest  itself — 
You  who  have  shared  my  anguish  during  all  these 
years  can  alone  understand  the  delight  brought  to  me 
by  a  faint  ray  of  hope. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY.  —  Havc  you  learned 
something  about  your  son? 

the  duchess. — I  have  found  him. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — That  caunot  be —  You 
will  only  suffer  added  tortures  when  you  find  you  have 
been  the  victim  of  an  illusion. 

15 


i6  VAUTRIN 

THE  DUCHESS. — Dear  aunt,  a  dead  child  has  his  grave 
in  his  mother's  heart,  but  a  stolen  child  lives  there  to 
the  last. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREv. —  Hush!  If  anyonc 
should  hear  you ! 

THE  DUCHESS. — What  do  I  care!  From  to-day,  I 
begin  a  new  life  and  feel  within  me  all  the  strength 
needed  to  resist  Monsieur  de  Montsorel's  tyranny. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREV. — After  twenty-two  years 
of  vain  tears,  upon  what  events  do  you  base  this  new 
hope? 

THE  DUCHESS. — It  is  more  than  a  hope —  Just  listen ! 
After  the  King's  reception,  I  drove  to  the  Spanish 
embassy;  the  Ambassador  was  to  present  me  to  the 
Duchess  of  Christoval.  It  was  there  that  I  saw  a 
young  man  who  looked  strikingly  like  me.  Do  you 
imderstand  now  why  I  returned  home  so  late?  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  fixed  in  the  drawing-room  where  he  stood. 
Only  when  lie  left  could  I  withdraw. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREV. — And  is  it  such  a  fccblc 
clue  that  has  excited  you  so  greatly? 

THE  DUCHESS. — FoT  a  mother,  is  not  a  sudden  revela- 
tion the  surest  of  proofs?  The  first  time  I  gazed  upon 
him,  I  felt  as  if  aflame  passed  before  my  eyes;  his 
look  kindled  my  life  again  and  I  was  filled  with  heav- 
enly bliss.  Ah,  if  he  is  truly  my  son,  I  know  I  shall 
love  him  madly ! 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — It  WOUld  Tuin  yOU  ! 

THE  DUCHESS. — Pcrhaps  it  would.  I  may  have  been 
observed  already.  An  unconquerable  force  carried 
me  on;  I  saw  no  one  but  him;  I  was  bound  to  have 
him  speak  to  me.  And  he  did  speak  tome;  he  told 
me  his  age — just  twenty-three — Femand's  exact  age — 


VAUTRIN  17 

MADEMOISELLE      DE      V  AUDREY. But      the      DulcC      WaS 

there,  was  he  not? 

THE  DUCHESS. — Hovv  could  I  think  of  my  husband! 
I  listened  to  this  young  man  as  he  was  talking  to  Ines 
de  Christoval.     I  believe  they  love  each  other. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — What!  Incs !  The 
proposed  wife  of  your  son,  the  Marquis?  And  do  you 
think  the  Duke  was  not  struck  by.  the  sight  of  such 
favor  being  shown  by  you  to  his  son's  evident  rival? 

THE  DUCHESS. — You  are  right.  I  realize  now  to  what 
danger  Fernand  is  exposed.  But  I  do  not  want  to 
keep  you  up  any  longer.  I  feel  I  could  talk  to  you 
about  hira  until  daybreak.  Besides,  you  will  see  him 
soon.  I  told  him  to  call  upon  me  at  an  hour  when 
Monsieur  de  Montsorel  is  in  attendance  upon  the 
King,  so  that  we  may  question  him  concerning  his 
childhood. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY, — I  am  afraid  you  will 
enjoy  but  little  sleep.  Do  try  and  calm  yourself. 
The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  send  Felicity  to  bed;  she  is 
not  accustomed  to  staying  up  so  late.  {She  rings  the 
bell.) 

FELICITY,  Entering  the  room. — Monsieur  le  Due  has 
just  reached  home  with  Monsieur  le  Marquis. 

THE  DUCHESS. — I  havc  already  told  you,  Felicite,' 
never  to  inform  me  of  any  matter  concerning  Mon- 
sieur.    You  may  retire.      {Exit  Felicite  ) 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — I  hardly  dare  touch 
upon  an  illusion  that  gives  you  so  much  joy;  but  when 
I  measure  the  height  to  which  it  has  carried  you,  I 
dread  some  horrible  fall.  Precipitated  from  such  a 
lofty  peak,  both  soul  and  body  are  likely  to  be  crushed 
together.     I  repeat  it,  I  tremble  for  yoi?. 


i8  VAUTRIN 

THE  DUCHESS. — You  are  afraid  of  the  effects  of 
despair,  I  am  afraid  of  the  excess  of  my  joy. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY,  gaziug  ttf  the  DuchesK,  who 
is  leaving  the  room. — If  she  finds  herself  mistaken,  it 
may  drive  her  insane. 

THE  DUCHESS,  comiug  back. — Dear  Aunt,  Fernand  is 
Raoul  de  Frescas.     {She  goes  from  the  room.) 


SCENE    II 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY,  aloiie. — She  cannot  real- 
ize that  it  would  take  a  miracle  to  restore  her  son  to 
her.  But  all  mothers  believe  in  just  such  miracles. 
She  must  be  closely  watched.  A  look,  a  word,  might 
ruin  her!  For,  if  she  were  right,  and  this  young  man 
is  really  her  son,  she  is  threatened  with  a  catastrophe 
more  terrible  than  the  disappointment  which  is  prob- 
ably in  store  for  her.  I  wonder  if  she  will  know  how 
to  control  herself  in  the  presence  of  her  maids? 


SCENE    III 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaudrey.     Feliciti^. 

MADAMOiSELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — Is  your  mistrcss  through 
with  you  so  soon? 

FELiciTi^;.— Yes,  Mademoiselle;  Madame  la  Duchesse 
was  in  a  great  hurry  to  dispense  with  my  services. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — She  gavc  you  HO  Special 
orders  for  the  morning? 


VAUTRIN  19 

FELICITY. — No,  Mademoiselle. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY, — Toward  noon,  a  young 
gentleman  named  Monsieur  Raoul  de  Frescas,  will 
call  upon  me.  He  may  possibly  ask  for  the  Duchess. 
Speak  to  Joseph  about  it,  and  tell  him  to  conduct  the 
gentleman  to  my  sitting-room.     (W/e  haves  the  room.) 


SCENE    IV 

FEUciTE,  alone. — A  young  man  for  her?  I  should 
think  not!  He's  for  Madame.  I  always  thought  that 
the  withdrawal  of  the  Duchess  from  society  had  some 
hidden  motive.  She  is  beautiful,  she  is  rich  and  the 
Duke  does  not  love  her.  To-night  is  the  first  time  she 
has  been  out  in  a  long  while;  to-morrow  a  young  man 
is  to  call  upon  her  and  Mademoiselle  is  appointed  to 
receive  him —  Well,  well,  they  are  concealing  some- 
thing from  me —  In  this  house,  there  are  neither  con- 
fidences nor  tips.  If  that's  going  to  be  the  kind  of  life 
for  us  maids,  under  this  new  order  of  things,  I  wonder 
how  we  are  going  to  get  along —  {A  side  door  opens 
and  two  men  are  seen  on  the  threshold  ;  the  door  is  closed 
at  once.)  Well —  We'll  seethe  voung  man,  anyhow. 
{E:nt  Fell  cite.) 


SCENE   V 

Joseph.     Vautrin. 

( Vautrin  loalks  in  through  the  side  door,  dressed  in  the 
eveyiing  attire  of  a  diplomat.  His  overcoat  is  tan-colored^ 
bordered  with  fur  and  lined  with  black  satin.) 


20  VAUTRIN 

JOSEPH. — The  wretched  creature!  If  she  had  seen 
us,  we  would  have  been  ruined, 

VAUTRIN. — You  mean,  you  would  have  been  ruined! 
So,  you  are  awfully  anxious  not  to  get  into  hot  water 
again,  it  seems.  I  suppose  you  are  enjoying  angelic 
peace  in  this  house. 

JOSEPH. — Well,  I  find  that  it  pays  to  be  honest. 

VAUTRIN. — What  do  you  mean  by  being  honest? 

JOSEPH. — Oh,  making  just  a  trifle  over  and  above 
my  wages. 

VAUTRIN. — I  see,  I  see —  You  steal  often  but  little 
at  a  time ;  you  are  feathering  your  nest  and  perhaps 
enjoying  a  little  usury]  on  the  side.  Well,  you  have 
no  idea  how  pleased  I  am  to  see  one  of  my  old 
acquaintances  settled  in  a  most  honorable  position. 
You  are  built  for  it,  for  you  have  only  a  few  minor 
faults,  and  that's  like  being  half  virtuous.  Personally, 
I  have  had  vices,  and  I  regret  them,  for,  alas,  they 
have  passed  away.  All  I  have  left,  nowadays,  is  the 
excitement  of  dangers  and  struggles.  After  all,  it's 
much  like  the  Indian  surrounded  by  his  enemies :  I 
defend  my  scalp. 

jcjSKPH. — And  mine? 

VAUTRIN. — And  yours?  Oh,  that's  so,  1  remember, 
I  promised  you,  on  the  word  of  a  Jacques  Collin, 
never  to  place  you  in  any  compromising  situation; 
but,  you  are  to  obey  me  in  everything — 

JOSEPH. — In  everything?     That  is — 

VAUTRIN. — Oh,  I  know  the  Penal  Code —  For  any 
risky  work,  I  have  the  old  chums,  the  faitliful  friends. 
Hy  the  way,  you  have  been  here  long' 

JOSEPH. — Madame    la    Duchesse   engaged    me    when 


VAUTRIN  21 

she  followed  His  Majesty  to  (ihent,  early  last  year  and 
I  have  been  trusted  by  her  ever  since. 

VAUTRIN. — That's  all  right.  I  need  some  informa- 
tion about  the  Montsorels.     What  did  they  tell  you? 

JOSEPH.  — Nothing. 

VAUTRIN. — It's  seldom  that  great  people  confide  in 
their  servants.     Now,  what  have  yon  discovered? 

JOSEPH.  — Nothing. 

VAUTRIN,  aside. — I  declare,  he  is  getting  honest  too 
fast.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  knows  nothing.  Still,  by 
talking  five  minutes  with  a  man,  I  always  manage  to 
get  some  information  out  of  him.  (Aloud.)  In  whose 
room  are  we  here? 

JOSEPH. — This  is  Madame  la  Duchesse's  private 
drawing-room,  and  these  doors  lead  to  her  other  apart- 
ments. The  Duke's  suite  is  just  above,  and  the  rooms 
of  their  only  son,  the  Marquis,  are  on  the  floor  below 
with  windows  on  the  courtyard. 

VAUTRIN. — I  asked  you  to  procure  me  the  impres- 
sions of  all  the  keys  used  in  the  Duke's  private  study. 
Have  you  got  them? 

JOSEPH,  with  a  shoiv  of  hesitation. — Here  they  are. 

VAUTRIN. — Every  time  I  shall  want  to  enter  the 
premises,  you'll  find  a  cross-mark  in  chalk  upon  the 
outside  of  the  garden  door —  You'll  go  every  evening 
to  look  for  it —  They  must  be  virtuous  people  here, 
for  I  noticed  that  the  hinges  were  quite  rusty.  Well, 
the  days  of  Louis  XVHI.  are  very  different  from  the 
days  of  Louis  XV.  And  now,  good-by,  for  the  pres- 
ent, my  dear  fellow;  I'll  be  back  to-morrow  night. 
{Aside.)  I  must  return  to  my  people  at  the  Christoval 
mansion. 


22  VAl'TRIN 

j(>SEPH,  aside. — Since  this  terrible  man  lias  discov- 
ered me,  I  haven't  had  a  moment's  rest — 

VAUTRIN,  retnrning  after  huviufj  walked  to  the  door. — 
So  the  Duke  is  not  living  with  his  wife? 

josKPH. — They  have  been  on  bad  terms  for  the  last 
twenty  years. 

VAUTKIN.  —  Do  you  know  why? 

JOSEPH. — Even  their  son  does  not. 

VAUTRIN. — And  the  man  in  your  place  before  you, 
why  did  they  send  him  away? 

JOSEPH. — I  don't  know.  I  never  met  him.  In  fact, 
I  think  the  household  has  been  organized  as  it  now  is 
only  since  the  second  return  of  the  King. 

VAUTRIN. — This  is  one  of  the  results  of  the  new  order 
of  things:  no  more  attachment  between  masters  and 
servants,  hence  no  niore  confidences,  hence  no  chance 
of  betrayal.  {To  Joseph.)  Do  they  exchange  cutting 
remarks  at  the  dinner  table? 

JOSEPH. — Never  in  the  presence  of  the  serving 
people. 

vAUTKi.N. — What  is  your  opinion  of  your  masters 
between  yourselves,  in  the  servants'  hall? 

JOSEPH. — We  think  the  Duchess  a  saint. 

VAUTRIN. — And  the  Duke? 

JOSEPH. — An  utterly  selfish  man. 

VAUTRIN. — A  statesman,  in  a  word.  {Aside.) 
There  must  be  secrets  in  his  life;  we'll  have  to  make 
use  of  them.  Every  great  lord  has  some  small  pas- 
sion by  which  he  may  be  led.  If  I  ever  discover  what 
the  Duke's  pet  vice  is,  his  son  will  have  to —  {To 
Joseph.)  What  do  they  say  of  the  marriage  of  the 
Marquis  with  Dona  Ines  de  Christoval? 

JOSEPH. — They    never    mention   it   before   us.       The 


VAUTRIN  23 

Duchess  seems  to  take  very  little  interest  in  the 
matter. 

VAUTRIN. — And  he,  her  only  son!  That  looks 
hardly  natural. 

JOSEPH, — Between  us,  I  think  she  cares  very  little 
for  her  son. 

VAUTRIN. — By  Jove,  it  has  been  harder  to  get  this 
piece  of  information  out  of  you  than  to  pull  the  cork 
out  of  a  bottle.  So,  after  all,  there  is  a  secret  in  this 
house —  A  Duchess  of  Montsorel  who  dislikes  her 
son,  and  he  an  only  son! —  Who  is  her  father-con- 
fessor? 

JOSEPH. — She  attends  to  all  her  devotional  exercises 
in  private. 

VAUTRIN. — Oh,  well,  I'll  know  all  about  her  in  no 
time —  Secrets  are  like  maidens :  the  closer  they  are 
kept  locked  up,  the  more  certain  they  are  to  escape. 
I'll  place  two  of  my  fellows  on  watch  at  the  door  of  her 
parish  church;  they  won't  get  their  salvation,  but 
something  else — more  useful  to  me.     Good-by. 


SCENE    VI 

josKPH,  alone. — Yes,  that's  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
but,  sure  as  fate  he'll  be  the  cause  of  my  losing  my 
situation.  If  I  were  not  deathly  afraid  that  Jacques 
Collin  would  have  me  poisoned  like  a  dog,  I'd  go 
straight  away  and  tell  the  Duke  everything.  But,  in 
this  world,  we  all  have  to  take  care  of  ourselves  first. 
I  am  not  going  to  pay  anybody  else's  score,  not  I.  So 
I'll  let  the  Duke  square  accounts  with  Jacques  as  best 
he   may.      Anyhow  it's   time   to  go  to  bed.     Ah,   the 


24  VAl'TRIN 

Duchess  is  moving  about.  What  is  she  after,  I  won- 
der? I'll  listen.  {Fie  leaves  the  room  but  keeps  the  door 
ulightly  ajar.) 


SCENE    VII 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTsoREi.,  n/())ir. — Whcrc  Can  I 
liide  my  son's  birth-certificate?  {She  reads  o.loiid  an 
official  hokin'i  paper  she  is  holding  in  her  hand.) 
"Valencia,  July,  1793 — "  Valencia,  the  city  of  my 
life's  disaster!  There  did  Fcrnand  come  into  the  world 
just  seven  months  after  my  wedding-day.  To  his 
fatally  premature  birth  was  due  the  most  mfamous 
accusation!  {She  meditates  for  a  minnte.)  I  know 
what  I  shall  do —  I  will  ask  my  aunt  to  keep  this 
paper  in  her  possession,  until  I  find  a  secure  place  for 
it.  The  Duke  would  not  hesitate  to  have  my  rooms 
searched,  in  my  absence.  He  has  the  whole  police  of 
the  Kingdom  at  his  disposal.  Who  would  dare  refuse 
anything  to  a  man  so  high  in  power?  I  only  hope  that 
Joseph  will  not  sec  me  visiting  Madenioiselle  de 
Vaudrey  so  late  at  night —  Everybody  in  the  house 
would  talk  about  it —  Ah,  what  a  position  to  be  in! 
Alone  against  them  all!     A  prisoner  in  my  own  house! 


SCENE    VII 

Thf  Duchess  ok  Montsorel.     Mademoiselle 
i)K  Vaudrey. 

1HE  DUCHESS. — So,  I  sce  that  you  find  it  just  as  hard 
to  sleep  as  I  do  myself? 


VAUTRIN  25 

MADKMOisELLK  DE  VAUDREY. — No,  dear  cliild  if  I  come 
back  to  you  to-night,  it  is  to  try  and  drive  away  the 
dream  that  is  now  luring  you  to  a  fearful  awakening. 
Louise,  I  must  tear  you  away  from  your  wild  imagin- 
ings. The  more  I  have  thought  of  what  you  told  me  a 
moment  ago,  the  more  I  have  felt  pity  for  you.  It  is 
my  duty  to  tell  you  the  cruel  truth.  The  Duke  cer- 
tainly hurled  Fernand  so  far  down  the  social  plane 
that  it  is  not  possible  that  he  should  have  climbed 
again  to  our  height.  The  young  man  you  saw  to-night 
cannot  be  your  son. 

THE  DUCHESS. — But  you  do  not  know  my  Fernand!  I 
know  him,  and  know  that  wherever  he  is  his  life  keeps 
close  to  mine.     I  have  seen  him  thousands  of  times — 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — In  your  dreams ! 

THE  DUCHESS. — Femaud  has  in  his  veins  the  blood 
of  the  Vaudreys  as  well  as  that  of  the  Montsorels. 
The  position  his  birth  ought  to  have  secured  for  him, 
he  has  managed  to  reach  by  conquest;  wherever  he  is, 
people  give  way  to  his  prestige.  If  he  entered  the 
army,  he  is  now  a  colonel.  My  son  is  proud,  hand- 
some, beloved  by  all !  I  know  that  he  is  loved.  Do 
not  contradict  me,  dear  aunt;  I  tell  you,  Fernand 
exists.  If  he  did  not,  it  would  mean  that  the  Duke 
broke  his  word  as  a  gentleman,  and  you  know  that  he 
places  too  high  the  virtues  of  his  caste  to  violate  the 
foremost  of  them  all. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — Would    not  his    honOT  aS 

a  husband   and   his   thirst   for  revenge   have  proved 
dearer  to  him  than  his  loyalty  to  a  promise? 

THE  DUCHESS. — Ah,  you  send  cold  shivers  over  me. 

MADEMOISELLE       DE       VAUDREY. Don't        yOU        kuOW, 

Louise,  that  pride  of  race  is  as  much  the  heritage  of 


26  VAUTRIN 

the  house  of  Montsorel  as  brilliancy  of  wit  is  that  of 
the  house  of  Mortemart? 

THE  DUCHESS. — I  kuow  it  but  too  Well.  The  doubt 
he  has  harbored  as  to  the  legitimacy  of  his  son  has 
driven  him  almost  insane. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  v.\uDREY. — No,  not  insauc.  His 
head  is  cool  if  his  blood  is  hot.  But,  when  obeying 
the  impulse  of  their  inborn  principles,  men  of  his  sort 
act  almost  as  quickly  as  they  think. 

THE  DUCHESS. — But,  dear  aunt,  you  know  the  price 
he  made  me  pay  for  my  son's  life.  It  was  high 
enough  to  secure  forme,  at  least,  the  certainty  that  it 
is  not  endangered.  Had  I  persisted  in  my  protestations 
that  I  was  guiltless,  Fernand  would  have  been  put  to 
death  then  and  there.  I  sacrificed  my  honor  for  my 
son's  sake.  All  mothers  would  have  done  the  same. 
You  were  far  away,  in  France,  keeping  watch  over 
my  estates,  and  I,  left  to  myself,  in  a  strange  land, 
weakened  by  fever  and  illness,  I  lost  my  head —  I 
have  realized,  since,  that  they  would  never  have  dared 
to  put  their  threats  into  execution.  When  I  consented 
to  such  a  sacrifice,  I  knew  well  enough  that  Fernand 
would  be  a  nameless  waif  wandering,  in  dire  poverty, 
over  countries  unknown  to  me.  But  I  also  knew  that 
he  would  live  and  that  some  day  I  should  meet  him, 
even  if  I  had  to  search  the  whole  world  through. 
To-night,  I  was  so  excited,  that  I  forgot  to  place  in 
your  care  Fernand's  birth  certificate  which  the  Spanish 
Ambassadress  has  at  last  secured  for  me.  Please  keep 
it  on  your  person,  until  you  have  occasion  to  give  it 
into  the  hands  of  your  father-confessor. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREV. — The  Dukc  must  be 
aware  of    the   steps  you    have    takt-n    recently    in    the 


VAUTRIN  97 

matter.  Beware  of  him,  for  your  son's  sake!  Since 
he  returned  from  the  Embassy,  to-night,  he  has  been 
at  work  in  his  study. 

THE  DUCHESS. — If  I  rcsolve  to  shake  off  the  shame  he 
has  tried  to  put  upon  me,  if  I  give  up  my  solitary  and 
silent  tears,  you  may  be  certain  that  nothing  will  make 
me  waver.  I  am  no  longer  in  Spain,  or  England, 
under  absolute  control  of  a  diplomat,  crafty  as  a  tiger, 
who,  during  the  whole  period  of  the  emigration,  spied 
upon  my  looks,  my  gestures,  my  words,  even  my 
silence!  Who  seemed  to  read  my  most  inmost 
thoughts;  who  surrounded  me  with  ever-watching 
eyes  as  within  a  webb  of  iron  meshes ;  who  made  of 
my  servants  as  many  incorruptible  jailers,  and  who 
kept  me  within  that  most  hateful  of  prisons — an  open 
house.  But  now  I  am  in  France,  you  are  with  me 
again,  I  hold  an  office  at  Court,  I  can  speak.  I  will 
find  out  what  has  become  of  the  Vicomte  de  Langeac; 
I  will  prove  that  after  the  Tenth  of  August*  we  never 
saw  each  other  again,  I  will  tell  the  King  of  what  crime 
the  heir  of  two  great  houses  has  been  the  victim —  I 
am  a  woman,  I  am  the  Duchess  of  Montsorel,  I  am  a 
mother !  You  and  I  are  wealthy ;  we  have  a  virtuous 
priest  as  our  counselor  and  guide,  and  right  is  on  our 
side!  That's  why  I  have  secured  my  son's  birth  cer- 
tificate— 


*By  Tenth  of  August  is  always  meant,  by  the  French,  August 
loth,  1792,  the  day  of  the  storming  by  the  rabble  of  the  Palace  of 
the  Tuileries. 


38  VAl'TRIN 


SCENE     IX 

Tnz  Preceding.      The  Duke  of   Montsorel.      JIc  has 

entered  ivhilc  the  Duchcsa  is  uttering 

Iter  last  luords. 

the  duke. — You  secured  this  certificate  to  deliver  it 
to  me,  Madame. 

the  duchess. — Since  when,  sir,  have  you  presumed 
to  enter  my  apartments  without  sending  in  your  name? 

THE  DUKE. — Since  you  have  begun  to  break  our 
agreement,  Madame.  You  swore  never  to  make  any 
attempt  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of — your  son. 
That  was  the  absolute  condition  on  which  I  allowed 
him  to  live. 

THE  DUCHESS. — Is  it  not  morc  honorable,  on  my 
part,  to  break  this  promise  than  to  keep  all  the  others? 

THE  DUKE. — Then  wc  are  both  freed  from  our 
compacts. 

THE  DUCHESS. — Havc  you  respected  yours  up  to  this 
day? 

THE  DUKE. — I  have,  Madam. 

THE  DUCHESS. — You  hear  what  he  says,  dear  aunt, 
and  will  bear  witness  to  it. 

^!  A  DEMOISELLE  DE  V  AUDREY. — Has  it  cvcr  entcfcd 
your  mind,  sir,  that  Louise  might  be  guiltless? 

THF,  DUKE. — I  imderstand  why  it  is  possible  for  you, 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaudrey,  to  believe  her  innocent. 
What  would  I  not  give  for  such  a  belief!  Madame 
has  now  had  twenty  years  in  which  to  prove  herself 
blameless. 

THE  DUCHESS. — Yes,  for  twenty  years  you  have  tor- 


VAUTRIN  7i) 

tured  my  heart  pitilessly,  relentlessly —     You  are   not 
a  judge,  you  are  an  executioner. 

THE  DUKE. — Madame,  if  you  do  not  give  me  this  cer- 
tificate, your  Fernand  will  have  everything  to  fear 
from  nie.  You  have  procured  this  document  so 
cjuickly  after  our  return,  doubtless,  because  you  want 
to  use  it  as  a  weapon  against  me.  You  will  attempt  to 
secure  for  your  son  a  name  and  a  fortune  that  are  not 
his;  you  are  set  upon  introducing  him  into  a  family 
that  has,  except  in  your  case,  been  kept  free  from 
stain  by  virtuous  women — a  family  that  has  never 
known  a  misalliance. 

THE  DUCHESS. — And  your  son  will  continue  the  tradi- 
tion worthily! 

THE  DUKE. — Imprudent  woman!  You  dare  awaken 
terrible  remembrances!  And  these  words  of  yours 
are  sufficient  evidence  that  you  will  not  hesitate  to 
bring  about  a  scandal  thiit  will  cover  us  all  with  shame. 
Are  we  then  to  expose  in  the  court-room  a  past  which, 
while  it  will  not  leave  me  unbesmirched,  will  proclaim 
your  dishonor?  {Re  turns  totcard  Mademoiselle  dc 
Vaudrey.)  1  suppose  she  never  told  you  the  whole 
story,  my  dear  aunt.  She  loved  the  Vicomte  de 
Langeac;  I  knew  it  and  respected  this  maidenly 
attachment.  I  was  so  young  then!  The  Vicomte 
came  to  me,  saying  that  he  felt  that  he,  a  j^ounger 
son  and  without  any  fortune,  ought,  for  her  own  sake 
to  give  up  all  pretensions  to  Mademoiselle  de  Vau- 
drey's  hand.  Trusting  both  their  honors,  I  accepted 
her  from  him,  believing  her  a  pure  girl.  In  those 
days,  I  would  have  given  my  life  for  the  Vicomte  and 
I  proved  it.  On  August  loth,  in  the  defense  of  the 
Royal  Family,  the  scoundrel  acted  with  such  daring 


3©  VAUTRIN 

bravery  that  he  was  singled  out  for  destruction  by  the 
rabble.  I  had  him  cared  for  by  one  of  my  agents,  but 
he  was  discovered  and  locked  up  in  the  Abbaye  prison. 
As  soon  as  I  heard  of  it  I  gave  all  the  gold  I  had  gath- 
ered for  our  flight  to  a  man  named  Boulard  who  under- 
took to  save  the  prisoner  by  mingling  with  the  butchers 
in  the  September  massacres.  A  second  time,  the 
Vicomte  was  rescued  from  death  and  through  me! 
{To  Afadaine  de  Montsorel.)  He  has  paid  back  his  debt 
honorably,  has  he  not?  How  is  it  that,  young  as  I 
was,  beside  myself  with  jealous  passion,  I  did  not 
crush  that  child  with  my  own  hands?  To-day,  you 
reward  me  for  my  forbearance,  as  your  lover  rewarded 
me  for  my  blind  confidence.  Matters  are  now  just 
where  they  were  in  those  days —  But  I  shall  not  tell 
you  now  as  I  told  you  then :  forget  your  son  and  he 
shall  live! 

MADEMOISKLLK     DK     VAUOREY. And      hcr      tWCUtV-tWO 

years  of  suffering,  do  you  count  them  for  nothing? 

THE  DUKK. — The  greatness  of  the  remorse  is  com- 
mensurate to  the  greatness  of  the  crime. 

THE  DUCHESS. — If  you  dare  to  take  my  sufferings  for 
evidence  of  remorse,  I  must  cry  out  to  you  again  and 
again:  I  am  innocent,  innocent!  No,  sir,  the  Vicomte 
never  lietrayed  your  confidence ;  it  was  not  alone  for  his 
King  he  had  sworn  to  die  on  that  fatal  day,  when  he 
said  good-by,  and  gave  up  all  claims  upon  my  love! 
Since  that  hour,  I  never  have  set  my  eyes  upon  him. 

THE  DUKE. — You  purchascd  your  son's  life  by  stat- 
ing exactly  the  contrary. 

THE  DUCHESS. — An  agreement  exacted  by  fear  can 
never  be  binding! 

THE  DUK.E. — Will  you  give  up  this  certificate  of  birth? 


VAUTRIN  31 

THE  DUCHESS. — It  is  not  in  iny  possession. 

THE  DUKE. — Then  I  do  not  answer  any  longer  for 
your  son's  safety. 

THE  DUCHESS. — Havc  you  weighed  the  portent  of  this 
threat? 

THE  DUKK. — Yon  should  know  me  by  this  time, 
Madame. 

THE  DUCHESS. — But  you,  vou  do  not  know  me  I  You 
say  you  do  not  answer  any  longer  for  my  son's  safety! 
Take  care  of  that  of  your  son  then!  Albert's  life 
shall  answer  for  Fernand's.  If  you  set  a  watch  over 
my  goings  and  comings,  yours  will  be  spied  upon  by 
my  people;  if  the  King's  police  obey  your  orders,  I 
shall  call  to  help  my  skill  and  God's  assistance.  If 
you  touch  Fern  and,  Albert  will  have  to  answer  for  it. 
Wound  for  wound,  I  tell  you !     Now  go ! 

THE  DUKE. — You  are  in  your  own  apartment, 
Madame.  I  forgot  myself  in  speaking  here  as  I  did. 
I  trust  you  will  kindly  excuse  me. 

THE  DUCHESS. — You  are  more  of  a  gentleman  than 
your  son.  When  he  loses  his  self-control  he  does  not 
apologize. 

THE  DUKE,  aside. — So  her  resignation  up  to  this  day 
was  only  deceit!  Has  she  been  waiting  for  this  very 
moment?  Ah,  women  counseled  by  cunning  priests 
are  like  volcanoes  that  falsely  seem  extinct!  The  fire 
in  them  seethes  concealed,  and  one  only  discovers  it 
when  it  bursts  forth!  She  holds  my  secret;  I  no 
longer  hold  her  child  in  my  power —  I  may  be  beaten. 
{Exit  the  Duke.) 


32  VAUTRIN 


SCENE    X 

The  Preceding,  /ni/iUf;  The  Duke. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDKEY. — Louisc,  you  chciish  the 
child  you  never  have  seen,  you  detest  the  son  who  has 
grown  under  your  roof.  Vou  must  tell  me  the  reason 
of  your  hatred  for  Albert,  unless  you  wish  to  lose  all 
claims  to  my  regard  and  allection. 

THE  DuciiEss. — Do  uot  let  US  say  a  word  more  on  the 
subject. 

MADE.MoisELLE  DE  VAUDRKY. — The  indifference  of 
your  husband,  a  moment  ago,  when  you  were  mani- 
festing your  aversion  to  your  son,  struck  me  as  most 
strange. 

THE  DUCHESS. — Oh,  he  is  accustomed  to  it. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  V  AUDREY. — And  yet,  I  caunot 
believe  that  you  are  an  unnatural  mother. 

THE  DUCHESS. — An  uunatural  mother!  Indeed  I  am 
not!  {S/tc  iiieditatefi  for  a  iiiinutt  and  titen  proceeds.)  I 
cannot  afford  to  lose  your  affection.  {She  drawn  her 
aiint  closer  lo  Iter.)     Albert  is  not  my  son. 

MADE.MOISELLE  DE  VAUDKEV. — A  Stranger  has  usurped 
the  place,  the  name,  the  title,  the  property  of  the  real 
son  and  heir! 

THE  DUCHESS. — Not  au  absolute  stranger,  for  Albert 
is  his  son.  Since  that  fatal  night,  when  Kernand  was 
snatched  from  me,  there  has  been  a  complete  separa 
tion  between  the  Duke  and  me.  The  wife  felt  as 
deeply  outraged  as  the  mother;  but  here,  again,  I  had 
to  purchase  my  solitude. 


VAUTRIN  33 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — I  dare  not  Understand 
you. 

THE  DUCHESS. — I  allovved  the  Duke  to  present  as  my 
own  this  offspring  of  some  low  Spanish  paramour  of 
his.  He  was  bound  to  have  an  heir  to  his  name  and 
title.  In  the  turmoil  brought  upon  Spain  by  the 
French  revolution,  the  fraud  was  never  detected.  Do 
you  understand  now  how  my  blood  boils  over  at  the 
sight  of  the  child  of  the  courtesan  usurping  the  place 
and  rank  of  the  legitimate  son? 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — Ah,  now  I  cau  truly 
share  your  hopes,  my  poor  Louise.  How  I  trust  that 
you  are  not  mistaken  and  that  this  young  man  is  really 
your  son!     But  what  else  is  troubling  you  now? 

THE  DUCHESS. — I  suddculy  thought  that  by  calling  his 
father's  attention  toward  him,  to-night,  I  may  have 
caused  his  ruin —  Oh,  let  us  try  and  ward  off  this 
danger  without  a  moment's  delay!  I  must  find  out 
his  address  so  as  to  notify  him  not  to  call  upon  me 
to-morrow  morning. 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY, — Don't  leave  the  house 
at  this  time  of  night,  Louise;  that  would  be  sheer 
madness. 

THE  DUCHESS. — Listen,  then,  for  save  him  we  must, 
at  all  cost- 

MADEMOisELLK  DE  VAUDREY. — What  are  you  going  to 
do? 

THE  DUCHESS. — Neither  of  us  will  be  able  to  leave  the 
house  to-morrow,  without  being  followed.  So,  first  of 
all,  we  must  bribe  my  maid  before  the  Duke  does. 

MADEMOISELLE    DE    VAUDREY. — Oh,     Louise,     hoW     Cau 

you  make  use  of  such  means? 

THE  DUCHESS.— If  Raoul  be  really  the  son  disavowed 


34  VAUTRIN 

by  his  father,  the  son  over  whose  loss  I  have  wept  for 
twenty-two  years,  the  world  will  see  what  a  wife,  a 
mother,  wickedly  and  falsely  accused,  will  do  for  her 
child's  sake! 

(Curtain  on  First  Act.) 


SECOND    ACT 
(Same  scenery  as  in  the  first  act.) 

SCENE    I 

Joseph.     The  Duke. 

josEPHjjustJinisJnng  putting  the  room  in  order,  aside. — 
The  Duke!  So  late  to  bed  and  already  in  Madame's 
apartment —  There  must  be  something  the  matter. 
I  wonder  if  that  terrible  Jacques  is  right,  after  all? 

THE  DUKE. — Joseph,  I  shall  be  at  home  to  only  one 
person,  this  morning.  When  he  comes,  introduce  him 
here.  His  name  is  IMonsieur  Le  Chevalier  de  Saint- 
Charles.  Now,  find  out  if  Madame  can  receive  me. 
{Joseph  leaves  the  room.)  This  re-awakening  of  a 
maternal  feeling  I  thought  dead  has  taken  me  by  sur- 
prise. This  struggle,  happily  a  secret  yet,  must  be 
ended  at  once.  Louise's  resignation  has  rendered 
our  life  bearable!  It  would  otherwise  have  become 
odious.  In  a  foreign  country,  I  could  rule  over  my 
wife ;  here  1  have  to  depend  for  success  upon  my  skill 
and  the  assistance  of  people  in  power.  I  propose  to 
tell  the  King  everything ;  I  shall  submit  my  conduct  to 
his  judgment,  and  Madame  de  Montsorel  will  have  to 
obey  him.  But  I'll  wait  awhile  before  doing  that. 
The  secret  agent  whom  I  expect  this  morning,  if  he 
has  any  degree  of  skill,  soon  will  discover  the  cause  of 

35 


36  VAUTRIN 

my  wife's  sudden  revolt.  I  shall  know  whether 
Madame  de  Montsorel  has  only  been  deceived  by  some 
fancied  resemblance  or  whether  she  really  has  met 
her  son.  For  myself,  I  have  known  nothing  of  his 
whereabouts  for  the  last  twelve  years,  since  my  agents 
reported  his  disappearance.  I  feel  rather  sorry  now 
that  I  lost  my  self-control  last  night.  Henceforth,  if  I 
appear  indifferent,  her  suspicions  will  be  lulled  and 
her  secrets  will  come  out. 

JOSEPH,  enterimi  the  room. — Madame  la  Duchesse  has 
not  rung  for  her  maids  yet. 

THE  DUKE. — Very  well. 


SCENE     II 

Thk  PkEc  ki)1N(;.      Fei-ichj-';. 

{To  explai)i  his  presenre  in  ihe  room,  the  Duke  ermnines 
some  articles  .scattered  on  Ihe  tntth  :  ichile  (fi.i/i;/  so  he 
finds  a  letter  in  a  booh.) 

THE  DUKE,  reading). — "To  Mademoiselle  Ines  de 
Christoval. "  {Aside.)  Why  should  my  wife  hide 
such  a  seemingly  unimportant  letter?  She  probably 
wrote  it  after  our  quarrel.  I  wonder  if  she  mentions 
that  fellow  Raoul  in  it?  This  letter  is  not  going  to 
reach  the  Christoval  mansion. 

KELiciTE,  pirkin;/  up  the  same  booh  after  the  Duke  has 
yone  from  the  table,  aside. — Where  can  Madame's  letter 
be?     She  must  have  forgotten  where  she  placed  it. 

IHE  DUKE. — Are  you  looking  for  a  letter' 

FELiciTi^:. — Ah!     Yes,  Monsieur  lo  Due. 

THE  DUKE. — For  this  one,  perhaps? 


VAUTRIN  37 

FELiciTE. — Yes,  Monsieur  le  Due. 

THE  DUKE. — I  am  surprised  that  you  should  leave 
Madame  la  Duchesse  just  as  she  is  rising;  she  doubt- 
less needs  your  services. 

FELICITE. — Therese  is  attending  to  Madame  la 
Duchesse.     Besides,  she  is  sending  me  on  an  errand. 

THK  DUKE. — Oh,  you  don'l  have  to  render  me  any 
account  of  your  orders. 


SCENE    III 

The  Preceding.     vSaint-Charles. 

{Joseph  and  Saint-Charles  tvalk  together  from  the  door 
III  the  back  of  the  stage,  studging  each   other  stealth ilg.) 

JOSEPH,  aside. — This  man's  look  makes  me  uncomfort- 
able. (7c*  the  Duke.)  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  de  Saint- 
Charles,  {'rhf  Duke  nods  to  Saint-Charles  who  comers 
forward.) 

SAINT-CHARLES,  giving  a  letter  to  the  Duke,  aside. — 
Does  he  know  anything  about  my  real  personality  or 
does  he  want  to  use  me  as  Saint-Charles? 

the  duke.- — My  dear  fellow — 

SAINT-CHARLES,  asidc. — He  is  talking  to  Saint-Charles 
all  right. 

THE  DUKE. — You  are  recommended  to  me  as  a  man 
whose  cleverness,  in  a  loftier  sphere,  might  be  called 
genius. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — If  Mousicur  le  Due  grants  me  an 
opportunity,  he  will  have  no  cause  to  call  back  such  a 
flattering  opinion. 

THE  DUKE. — You  shall  have  the  opportunity  at  once. 


38  VAUTRIN 

sAiNT-CHARLF.s. — What  are  your  orders? 

THE  DUKE. — You  notice  that  girl,  over  there?  She 
intends  to  go  out,  and  I  do  not  want  to  restrain  her. 
But  she  must  not  take  a  step  out  of  this  house  until 
further  orders.  {Calling.)  Felicity !  (lie  gives  her  the 
letter.) 

SAINT-CHARLES,  (xsitle  to  Joseph  as  Felicite  leares  the 
room. — I  recognize  you,  I  know  everything.  If  you 
manage  to  have  this  girl  remain  in  this  house  and 
secure  the  letter  she  holds,  I  won't  call  on  you 
further,  and  will  know  nothing  of  the  past;  in  fact, 
I'll  leave  you  in  peace  as  long  as  you  behave  yourself. 

JOSEPH,  aside. — Nice  position  I  am  in,  between 
Jacques  Collin  and  this  other  fellow —  Well,  I'll  have 
to  try  and  serve  them  both  honestly —  {Exit  Joseph  on 
Felicite'' s  track.) 


SCENE     IV 

The  Dukk.      Saint-Charles. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — The  mattct  is  already  settled,  Mon- 
sieur le  Due.  Do  you  want  to  know  the  contents  of 
this  letter? 

THE  DUKE. — Indeed,  you  must  wield  a  power  both 
terrible  and  miraculous. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — You  placc  in  our  hands  absolute 
power;  we  use  it  cleverly,  that's  all. 

THE  DUKE. — And  supposing  you  abuse  it? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Impossible;  we  should  be  crushed 
at  once. 

THE   DUKE. — How    Can     men     endowed    with    such 


VAUTRIN  39 

unique  talents  be  satisfied  to  practice  them  in  so  infe- 
rior a  sphere? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Everything  combines  to  prevent  us 
from  rising  above  it.  We  are  the  protectors  of  our 
protectors.  Too  many  honorable  secrets  are  confided 
to  us,  too  many  shameful  ones  are  hidden  from  us  to 
allow  of  any  real  sympathy.  The  services  we  render 
can  only  be  rewarded  with  contempt.  Our  clients 
v.'ant  us  to  consider  noble  ideas  as  mere  words ;  as  far 
as  we  are  concerned,  delicacy  is  called  foolishness, 
honor  a  conventional  fiction,  treachery  a  form  of 
diplomacy !  We  are  supposed  to  be  trustworthy  and 
yet  we  are  left  to  guess  half  of  what  ought  to  be  told 
us.  To  think  and  to  act,  to  unravel  the  past  by  means 
of  the  present,  to  order  the  future  in  the  smallest 
details,  as  I  was  just  doing — this  is  only  a  hundredth 
part  of  our  daily  program  and  it  would  be  enough  to 
frighten  a  man  of  no  mean  talent.  When  the  object 
desired  has  been  obtained,  words  resume  their  real 
meanings,  Monsieur  le  Due,  and  those  we  serve  begin 
to  suspect  that  we  are  nothing  but  petty,  contemptible 
scamps. 

THE  DUKE. — This  may  all  be  quite  true,  my  dear 
man,  but  you  do  not  expect,  I  suppose,  to  change  the 
v/orld's  opinion  or  my  own,  for  that  matter? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — It  would  be  vcry  silly  on  my  part, 
if  I  did.  Besides,  it  is  not  the  opinion  of  others  that  I 
care  to  change ;  I  simply  wish  my  own  position  modi- 
fied. 

THE  DUKE. — And  you  think  it  would  be  an  easy  thing 
to  do? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Why  not,  Monseigneur?  Instead 
of  setting  me  to  ferret  out  family  secrets,  they  would 


4©  VAUTRIN 

use  mc  to  spy  oti  ministers  of  state;  instead  of  devot- 
ing my  time  to  hunting  vulgar  criminals,  I  would 
attach  myself  to  the  steps  of  wily  diplomats;  instead 
of  assisting  more  or  less  despicable  passions,  1  would 
serve  the  government.  My  happiness  would  be  to 
play  even  the  most  obscure  part  in  a  brilliant  perform- 
ance—  And  v.'hat  a  devoted  servant  you  would  have 
in  me.  Monsieur  le  Due! 

TJiE  DUKE. — I  deeply  regret,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I 
must  make  use  of  your  talents  in  such  a  narrow  field, 
but  you  will  have  a  chance  to  distinguish  yourself, 
and  later — well,  later  we'll  see. 

s.MNT-CHARLF.s,  asi'dc. — We'll  see,  we'll  sec — that 
means  it's  all  seen  already. 

THE  DUKE. — I  wish  to  havc  my  son  marry — 

SAiNT-CH.\RLES. — Mademoiselle  Ines  de  Christoval, 
Princess  of  Arjos!  A  splendid  match.  The  father 
committed  the  mistake  of  serving  under  Joseph  Bona- 
parte and  was  banished  from  Spain  by  King  Ferdi- 
nand. He  may  possibly  have  taken  a  part  in  the 
Mexican  revolution. 

THE  DUKF.. — Madame  de  Christoval  and  her  daughter 
receive  in  their  house  an  adventurer  by  the  name  of — 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Raoul  de  Frescas. 

T)iE  DUKE. — Is  there  anything  you  do  not  know 
already? 

SAiNT-CHARi.E.s. — If  Monsicur  le  Due  prefers  it,  I'll 
know  nothing. 

THE  DUKE. — On  the  contrary,  speak  out,  if  only  to 
inform  me  whether  there  are  any  secrets  you  allow  us 
to  keep  as  our  own. 

SAiNT-cHARLEs. — With  Mouseigucur's  permission, 
let   us  agree  on  one   thing:    Whenever  my  outspoken 


VAUTRIN  41 

speech  proves  obnoxious,  Monsieur  le  Due  may  call 
me  "Chevalier,"  and  I  will  at  once  resume  my  part  of 
a  paid  observer. 

THE  DUKE. — Proceed,  my  dear  man.  {Aside.)  These 
fellows  are  decidedly  amusing. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — MottsieuT  dc  Frcscas  will  be  entitled 
to  the  appellation  of  adventurer  when  he  is  no  longer 
able  to  live  on  a  footing  of  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year. 

THE  DUKE. — In  the  meantime,  it  will  be  your  duty 
to  pierce  the  mystery  he  wraps  himself  in. 

SAiNT-CHARLES. — That  is  not  an  easy  task,  Monsieur 
le  Due.  Just  at  present  we  are  obliged  to  act  with 
extreme  care  whenever  a  foreigner  is  in  question. 
Strangers  are  ruling  Paris  and  have  upset  it  pretty 
generally. 

THE  DUKE. — What  a  plague! 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Docs  MonsicuT  le  Due  belong  to  the 
opposition. 

THE  DUKE. — I  only  wish  the  King  might  have  been 
brought  back  without  such  an  escort. 

SAiNT-CHARLES. — The  King  would  not  have  had  to 
leave  the  country  last  year  if  the  splendid  police  sys- 
tem of  Bonaparte  had  not  become  disorganized.  The 
same  state  of  affairs  is  now  being  brought  about  again 
by  society  people!  It's  bad  enough  to  make  one 
resign  in  disgust!  Our  hands  are  tied  so  tight  by  the 
military  police  of  the  invaders  that  we  are  prevented 
from  arresting  any  suspect  for  fear  of  taking  into  cus- 
tody some  German  prince  mixed  up  in  a  love  intrigue, 
or  some  Margrave  befuddled  with  wine.  But  we'll  do 
our  very  best  for  you,  !Monseigneur.  Is  this  young 
man  known  to  have  any  vices?     Does  he  gamble? 


42  VAUTRIX 

iHE  DUKK. — He  docs,  at  social  gatherings, 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Uocs  hc  play  fair? 

THE  DUKE. — Monsieur  le  Chevalier! 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Then  hc  must  be  quite  wealthy. 

THE  DUKE. — Yoli  will  clo  Well  to  infomi  yourself  on 
that  point. 

SAiNT-cHAKLKs. — You  must  cxcusc  uic,  Mousicur  Ic 
Uuc;  but  without  knowledge  of  his  weaknesses,  we 
shall  discover  little  of  importance.  Will  Monseigneur 
kindly  tell  me  whether  this  young  man  is  sincerely  in 
love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Christoval? 

THE  DUKE. — With  a  princess,  an  heiress!  Why,  this 
question  makes  me  almost  doubt  you? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Has  not  Monseigneur  told  me  that 
we  had  to  deal  with  a  very  young  man?  Besides, 
feigned  love  is  more  perfect  in  its  outward  manifesta- 
tions than  genuine  love.  That's  the  reason  so  many 
women  are  deceived  by  it.  He  must  have  had  to 
break  with  some  sweetheart,  and  a  freed  heart  frees 
the  tongue. 

THE  DUKK. — Take  care,  sir!  Your  task  is  not  a  com- 
mon one;  you  ought  not  to  mix  any  woman's  affairs 
with  it.  The  slightest  indiscretion  will  lose  you  my 
good  will.  Everything  that  concerns  Monsieur  de 
Frescas  must  die  a  secret  between  you  and  me.  The 
silence  I  am  thus  exacting  from  you  must  include 
your  assistants  and  your  employers  as  well.  Finally, 
you  will  be  a  ruined  man  if  Madame  de  Montsorel  dis- 
covers one  of  the  steps  you  arc  about  to  take. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Docs  Madame  de  Montsorel  show 
any  interest  in  this  young  man?  The  girl  who  just 
went  out,  is  her  maid;  am  I  to  watch  the  mistress  as 
wclK' 


VAUTRIN  43 

THE  DUKE.  —  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  to  give  you  such 
an  order  would  be  unworthy  of  me;  to  ask  such  a 
question  is  unworthy  of  you. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Monsieur  le  Due,  I  see  that  we 
understand  each  other  perfectly.  What  is  then  to  be, 
at  the  beginning,  the  principal  object  of  my  inquiries? 

THE  DUKE. — Find  out  if  Raoul  de  Frescas  is  the 
man's  real  name;  discover  his  birthplace;  unearth 
every  little  detail  of  his  life  and  hold  all  the  informa- 
tion thus  gathered  as  a  state  secret. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — You  need  give  me  only  until  to-mor- 
row to  find  out  all  this,  Monseigneur. 

THE  DUKE. — That's  a  short  enough  time. 

SAiNT-CHARLES. — It  is,  but  then,  I'll  need  a  great  deal 
of  money. 

THE  DUKE. — You  must  not  think  that  I  have  any 
wish  to  be  told  bad  things  about  this  man.  Men  of 
your  trade  are  so  accustomed  to  serving  passions 
instead  of  enlightening  them,  that  you  often  prefer  to 
invent  ugly  stories  rather  than  to  come  back  empty- 
handed.  Personally,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  hear  that 
this  young  man  belongs  to  a  family —  {Enter  the 
Marquis;  seeing  his  father  husy  he  makes  a  movemetit  as 
if  to  withdraiD ;  by  a  gesture,  the  Duke  invites  Mm  to 
stay.) 


SCENE    IV 

The  Preceding.     The  Marquis. 

THE  DUKE,  contimdjig. — Should  Monsieur  de  Frescas 
be  of  noble  birth,  should  the  Princess  prefer  him  to 
my  son,  the  Marquis  shall  withdraw  his  suit. 


44  VAUTRIN 

THR  MARQUIS,  —  But  I  lovc  Incs,  Sir. 

THE  DUKE,  to  Snint-Charhn. — You  may  go,  sir. 

SAINT-CHARLES,  ttsidc. — So  hc  IS  not  particularly 
interested  in  this  match  for  his  son ;  he  certainly  is 
not  jealous  of  his  wife;  there  must  be  something  of 
the  greatest  importance  in  the  matter!  Either  I  am 
a  ruined  man  or  my  fortune  is  made.  [Exit  Sainf- 
Charles.) 


SCENE   VI 

The  Dukk.      Thk  Marquis. 

THE  DLKE. — To  Hiarry  a  woman  who  does  not  love 
you  is  a  mistake  you  shall  never  commit,  Albert,  as 
long  as  I  am  alive. 

THE  MARQUIS. — But  I  havc  no  proof  yet,  sir,  that  Ines 
is  adverse  to  my  suit.  Besides,  once  she  is  my  wife  it 
will  be  my  business  to  make  her  love  me,  and,  with- 
out conceit,  I  think  I  can  manage  that  part  of  the 
affair. 

1HE  ])UKK. — Allow  me  to  say,  my  son,  that  this 
Guardsman's  view  of  the  case  is  essentially  in  bad 
form. 

inE  MARQUIS. — On  any  other  subject,  sir,  your  word 
would  be  a  law  to  me;  but  each  epoch  has  its  own  way 
of  making  love.  In  the  meantime,  I  beg  of  you,  hasten 
the  conclusion  of  my  marriage  arrangements.  Like 
all  only  daughters,  Ines  has  a  somewhat  willful  dispo- 
sition ,  and  the  complacency  with  which  she  accepts 
the  attentions  of  an  adventurer  ought  to  alarm  you.  I 
must  say  that  I  find  you,  this  morning,  inconceivably 


VAUTRIX  45 

indifferent  on  the  subject.  Leaving-  aside  my  love  for 
Ines,  is  it  probable  that  I  could  easily  find  a  better 
match?  I  shall  become  a  Grandee  of  Spain,  as  you  are 
yourself,  and  besides,  I  shall  have  the  title  of  Prince. 
Are  these  things  not  to  your  liking,  father? 

THE  DUKE,  af'ide. — Will  the  blood  of  his  mother 
never  cease  to  manifest  itself  in  him?  How  Louise 
did  divine  the  manner  in  which  he  wounds  me  I 
{Aloud.)  You  ought  to  remember,  sir,  that  there  is 
no  more  glorious  title  than  that  of  Duke  of  Montsorel. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Have  I  offended  you,  sir?       ' 

THE  DUKE. — Enough  about  it!  You  forget  that  I 
engineered  this  marriage  during  my  stay  in  Spain. 
Besides,  Madame  de  Christoval  cannot  give  away 
Ines  in  marriage  without  the  father's  consent.  Mexico 
has  just  proclaimed  its  independence  and  this  explains 
sufficiently  the  delay  in  Monsieur  de  Christoval's 
answer  to  his  wife's  communication  on  the  subject. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Well  then,  sir,  your  plans  will  be 
foiled.  Did  you  not  notice  what  happened,  last  night, 
at  the  Spanish  Embassy?  My  mother  took  this  Raoul 
de  Frescas  under  her  open  patronage,  and  Ines  was 
evidently  pleased.  Do  you  know  what  thought,  long 
dormant  within  me,  was  brought  forth  by  this  incident : 
my  mother  hates  me!  And  shall  I  tell  you,  j'-ou  who 
love  me,  I  believe  I  have  no  feeling  in  my  heart  for 
her! 

THE  DUKE,  aside. — I  am  truly  reaping  what  I  sowed. 
Hatred  is  just  as  sure  a  revealer  of  truth  as  love  itself! 
{Aloud.)  It  does  not  behoove  you  to  judge  your 
mother ;  you  are  not  able  to  understand  her.  She  has 
noticed  in  me  too  blind  an  affection  for  you,  and  she 
wants  her  show  of  severity  to  make  up  for  it.     Let  it 


4^J  VAUTRIN 

be  the  last  time  that  I  hear  you  speak  in  that  way. 
To-day,  you  arc  on  duty  at  the  castle ;  go  there  at  once. 
I'll  get  you  leave  of  absence  for  to-night,  so  that  you 
may  have  a  chance  of  paying  court  to  Princess  of  Arjos 
in  the  ball-room. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Before  going,  may  I  call  upon  my 
mother  and  beg  her  to  assist  nie  with  Ines,  who,  I 
know,  is  to  visit  her  to-day? 

THE  DUKE. — You  may  ask  whether  she  is  visible.  I 
am  waiting  to  sec  her  myself.  {Exit  the  Marquis.) 
All  at  once  everything  seems  to  be  against  me.  Yes- 
terday the  Spanish  Ambassador  asked  mc  where  my 
elder  son  died;  last  night  his  mother  appeared  to 
believe  she  had  found  him  again;  just  now  the  son  of 
Juana  Mendes  managed  to  wound  me  to  the  quick! 
Ah,  I  feel  that  instinctively  the  Princess  has  taken  his 
measure.  Laws  can  never  be  violated  with  impunity, 
nature  is  even  more  merciless  than  society.  Shall  I 
be  strong  enough,  even  with  the  King's  assistance,  to 
lead  events  the  way  they  ought  to  go? 


SCENE    VII 

The  Dukk.      The  Duchess  or  Momsorel. 
The  Mar<.)Uis. 

the  duchess. — A  thousand  pardons!  Albert,  I  am 
favored,  indeed.  What  a  surprise!  You  come  here, 
just  to  kiss  your  mother  before  going  to  your  duties  at 
the  castle!  And  you  do  it  solely  out  of  filial  affection! 
Ah,  if  a  mother  ever  could  doubt  her  son's  love,  this 
outburst — and  you  have  not  spoiled  me  with  many  like 


VAUTRIN  47 

it — would  remove  all  anxiety,  and  so  I  must  thank 
you  again  for  it.     At  last,  we  understand  each  other. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Thesc  words  make  me  very  happy, 
mother.  If  I  have  appeared  somewhat  remiss  in  my 
duties  toward  you,  it  has  been  due  solely  to  my  fear 
of  displeasing  you. 

THE  DUCHESS,  to  the  Duke. — Ah,  I  understand  now — 
{To  the  Marquis.)  To  you,  good-by.  I  hear  that  the 
King  is  growing  quite  strict  with  his  household 
guard;  I  would  be  grieved  to  cause  you  to  be  repri- 
manded. 

THE  DUKE, — Why  send  him  away  when  Ines  is 
expected? 

THE  DUCHESS. — I  don't  expcct  her;  I  wrote  to  her  a 
few  moments  ago. 


SCENE    VIII 

The  Preceding.     Joseph, 

JOSEPH,  a^mouncing. — Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Chris- 
toval,  Mademoiselle  la  Princesse  D'Arjos! 

THE  DUCHESS,   asidc. — What  an  awful  complication! 

THE  DUKE,  to  his  sofi. — Stay  here.  I'll  arrange  mat- 
ters at  the  castle.     We  are  being  deceived. 


SCENE    IX 

The  Preceding.     The  Duchess  of  Christoval.     The 
Princess  of  Arjos. 

the    duchess   of   montsorel. — Ah,    Madame,    it    is 
most  gracious  on  your  part  to  forestall  my  visit. 


4S  VAL'TRIN 

THK  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisiovAL. — I  Came  to  provx  to  you 
that  no  question  of  etiquette  is  ever  to  stand  between 
us. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  MONTSOREL,  a.side  to  lues. — You  havc 
not  read  my  letter  then? 

Inks. — I  just  received  it  from  one  of  vour  maids,  in 
this  house. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  .MONTSOREL,  /o  herself'. — Then  I  may 
expect  Raoul  here  at  any  moment. 

THE  DUKE,  to  the  Duchcss  of  Chriatoral,  as  he  leads  her 
to  the  sofa. — Is  it  permissible  for  us  to  consider  this 
informal  visit  as  the  beginning  of  a  family  intimacy? 

THE  DUCHESSOF  CHRISTOVAL. — Do  uot  let  US  give  such 
importance  to  what  I  find  a  most  pleasant  incident. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Are  you  then  so  afraid,  Madame,  to 
give  my  hopes  some  encouragement?  Was  I  not  made 
miserable  enough,  yesterday?  Mademoiselle  granted 
me  nothing,  not  even  a  look. 

iNEs. — I  did  not  think,  sir,  that  I  should  have  occa- 
sion to  meet  you  so  soon  again.  I  believed  you  on 
duty,  at  this  time  of  day;  but  I  am  happy  to  be  given 
this  chance  of  defending  myself ;  in  fact,  I  only  saw 
you  as  we  were  leaving  the  ball-room,  and  my  excuse 
{Foiniiny  at  Madame  de  Montsord)  stands  there. 

THE  MARQUIS. — You  had  two  excuses.  Mademoiselle. 
It  is  gracious  on  your  part  to  mention  only  one. 

THE  DUKE. — Mademoiselle,  you  will  kindly  consider 
this  mild  reproof  as  an  evidence  of  my  son's  excessive 
modesty.  Albert  feels  some  anxiety,  as  if  Monsieur 
de  Frescas  ought  to  inspire  him  with  any!  At  this 
age,  love  is  a  naughty  fairy  that  magnifies  trifles.  But 
neither  your  mother,  nor  yourself.  Mademoiselle, 
would   give  any  serious  consideration  to  a  young  man 


VAUTRIN  49 

whose  name  is  an  enigma  and  who  is  absolutely  silent 
concerning  his  family. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  iMONTsoREL. — Do  you  not  evcn  hap- 
pen to  know  the  place  of  his  birth? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRiSTOVAL. — We  h^ve  not  yet 
reached  the  point  where  such  inquiries  are  in  order. 

THE  DUKE. — I  imagine,  though,  that  at  least  three  of 
us  here  would  be  quite  interested  in  this  piece  of 
information.  Probably  you  alone,  ladies,  would  keep 
silent,  for  I  have  noticed  silence  profits  only  those  who 
recommend  it  to  others. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — And  I,  sir,  do  not 
believe  in  the  guilelessness  of  certain  kinds  of  curi- 
osity. 

THE  MARQUIS,  ti)  his  viotliei'. — May  I  ask,  madam, 
whether  my  curiosity  is  really  out  of  place?  Am  I 
not  at  liberty  to  ask  Madame  if  the  Frescas  of  Aragon 
are  not  extinct  in  the  male  line? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL,  to  the  Duke. — We  were 
all  acquainted,  in  Madrid,  with  the  old  Commander  of 
the  Order  of  Malta  that  bore  the  name  the  last  of  his 
house. 

THE  DUKE. — And,  of  couTsc,  he  died  childless. 

INES. — But  there  exists  a  branch  of  the  family  in 
Naples. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Why,  Mademoiselle,  you  must  know 
that  your  cousins,  the  Medina-Coelis,  inherited  their 
property? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — You  are  right;  there 
are  no  more  Frescas. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  .MONTSOREL. — Well,  if  this  young 
man  is  without  a  name,  a  family  and  a  country,  he  can 
hardly    be    a  dangerous    rival    for  Albert,    and    I  do 


so  VAUTRIN 

not  see  why  we  need  give  him  so  much  of  our 
attention. 

THE  DUKE. — Oh,  but  hc  docs  attract  women's  atten- 
tion to  an  unusual  degree. 

iNEs. — I  begin  to  open  my  eyes — 

THE  MARQUIS. Ah! 

iNES. — Yes,  this  young  man  is,  perhaps,  not  all  that 
he  wishes  ])eople  to  believe  him  to  be;  but  he  is  witty, 
even  cultured,  he  expresses  none  but  noble  feelings, 
he  has  manifested  toward  us  the  most  chivalrous 
respect,  he  has  spoken  ill  of  no  one.  Evidently,  if  he 
is  assuming  the  character  of  a  gentleman  he  is  exag- 
gerating the  part. 

THE  DUKE. — I  am  also  afraid  that  he  is  exaggerat- 
ing his  wealth ;  but  it  is  a  kind  of  deception  hard  to 
keep  up  for  any  length  of  time  in  Paris. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF    MONTSOREL,     tO    the    Ducliess    of  (JIlHs- 

toval. — I  understand  that  you  are  going  to  give  splendid 
entertainments. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Docs  Monsieur  de  Frescas  speak 
Spanish,  ladies? 

INES. — As  well  as  we  do,  ourselves. 

THE  DUKE. — Keep  silent,  Albert;  have  you  not 
realized,  by  this  time,  that  Monsieur  de  Frescas  is  an 
accomplished  young  man? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisTovAL.  —  Mc  is  ccrtaiuly  very 
charming,  and  I  must  say,  my  dear  Duke,  tliat  if  your 
suspicions  prove  true,  I'll  feel  quite  sorry  not  to  be 
able  to  receive  him  any  longer. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  io  (he  DiichesK  of  Chris- 
toval. — You  look  as  lovely,  this  morning,  as  you  did 
last  night.  I  envy  you  the  ability  to  stand  so  well  the 
fatigues  of  society  life. 


VAUTRIN  5« 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  cHRiSTovAL,  ttside  to  lues. — Do  not 
speak  of  Monsieur  de  Frescas  any  more ;  the  subject 
does  not  please  Madame  de  Montsorel. 

INKS,  io  her  mother. — She  liked  him  well  enough  last 
night. 


SCENE    X 

The  Preceding.     Joseph,     Raoul. 

JOSEPH,  to  the  Duchess  of  Montsorel. — Monsieur  de 
Frescas  is  asking  for  Mademoiselle  de  Vaudrey,  who  is 
not  in ;  does  Madame  la  Duchesse  wish  to  receive  him? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Raoul  here! 

THE  DUKE,  aside. — Already  in  this  house! 

THE  MARQUIS,  to  Mx  father. — My  mother  is  deceiving 
us. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  to  JosepU. — Not  at  home. 

THE  DUKE. — If  you  havc  already  asked  Monsieur  de 
Frescas  to  call  upon  you,  why  should  you  show  your- 
self discourteous  toward  such  an  important  personage? 
{To  Joseph  in  spite  of  a  gesture  of  protest  from  the  Duchess 
of  Montsorel.)  You  may  introduce  the  gentleman. 
{To  the  Marquis.)     Be  prudent  and  calm. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  iiside. — While  trying  to 
save  him,  I  shall  be  the  cause  of  his  undoing! 

JOSEPH. — Monsieur  Raoul  de  Frescas. 

RAOUL. — My  eagerness  in  obeying  your  orders, 
Madame  la  Duchesse,  shows  you  how  proud  I  am  of 
your  favor  and  how  anxious  to  prove  myself  worthy 
of  it. 


5  a  VAUTRIN 

THE      DUCHESS      OK      MONTSOREL.  — YoUT       promptnCSS 

pleases  me  greatly,  sir.      {fn  a  low  voice.)      But  it  may 
be  fatal  to  you. 

KAOUL,  aside,  as  he  boirs  to  the  Duchess  of  Christoval 
and  her  dauyhter. — What,  Ines  in  this  house!  [The 
i/ontig  man  hows  to  the  Duke  who  returns  the  salutation  ; 
Imt  the  Afarquis  ht(s  pickml  up  a  newspaper  on  the  tablr 
and  affects  not  to  see  Jiuoul.) 

rHK  DUKE. — I  must  confess,  Monsieur  de  Frescas, 
that  I  did  not  expect  to  meet  you  here;  still  I  am 
pleased  to  see  the  interest  Madame  de  Montsorel  takes 
in  you,  since  it  gives  me  the  occasion  of  seeing  a 
young  man  whose  debut  has  met  with  such  brilliant 
success.  You  are  one  of  those  rivals  of  wliom  one 
may  feel  proud  when  victor,  and  not  ashamed  when 
vanquished. 

RAOui.. — Anywhere  but  in  your  own  house,  Monsieur 
le  Due,  the  excessiveness  of  this  praise,  of  which  I  am 
imworthy,  mi;.;ht  be  regarded  as  ironical;  but  here  it 
is  impossible  to  consider  it  except  as  a  courteous  way 
of  welcoming  me  {looking  toward  the  }far<jnis  whose 
back-  is  turned  to  him)  where  T  might  otherwise  think 
myself  undesired. 

iHE  ULKi.. — On  the  contrary,  your  visit  is  cjuite 
timely;  we  were  just  speaking  of  yor.r  family  and  of 
the  old  Commander  de  Frescas,  whom  Madame  and  I 
knew  intimately  a  few  years  ago. 

RAOLL. — So,  you  did  me  the  honor  of  mentioning 
me;  such  an  honor  is  generally  accompanied  by  a 
little  harmless  gossip. 

lilt  DUKE. — One  can  gossip  only  concerning  jieojile 
one  knows  all  about. 

THE    DUCHESS  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — And    We   slrould    feel 


VAUTRIX  53 

delighted  if  yoii  gave  iis  the  right  of  gossiping  about 
you, 

RAOUL. — It  is  certainly  to  my  interest  to  remain  in 
your  good  graces. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTsoREL. — I  think  I  know  of  a  sure 
means  of  securing  this  end. 

RAOUL. — And  it  is? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL.  ■ — To  remain  the  myste- 
rious personage  you  are  now. 

THE  MARQUIS,  layiiuj  dowii  his  neivspaper  and  tvrn'uuj 
round. — Here  is  something  interesting,  ladies;  at  the 
Field-Marshal's  party,  which  you  certainly  attended, 
they  caught  one  of  these  so-called  foreign  noblemen  in 
the  act  of  cheating  at  cards. 

iNEs. — Is  that  the  news  that  has  been  absorbing  your 
attention? 

RAOUL. — In  these  days,  who  is  not  a  foreigner? 

THE  MARQUIS. — Mademoisclle,  the  news  interested 
me  only  as  a  proof  of  the  inconceivable  facility  with 
which  people  we  know  nothing  about  gain  entrance 
into  society. 

THE  DUCHESS  of  MONTSOREL,  (iside. — Do  they  intend 
to  insult  him  in  my  own  drawing-room? 

UAOUL. — If  we  are  to  be  suspicious  of  persons  of 
whom  we  know  little,  there  are  other  people,  of  whom 
we  know  too  much,  after  the  slightest  acquaintance. 

THE  DUKLE. — Albert,  how  can  this  possibly  interest 
you?  Do  we  ever  receive  any  one  without  knowing 
all  about  his  family? 

RAOUL. — Monsieur  le  Due  knows  all  about  mine. 

THE  DUKE. — You  are  in  Madame  de  Montsorel's 
drawing-room,  and  that's  enough  for  me.  We  know 
too  well  what  we  owe  you  to  give  you  a  possible  excuse 


54  VAUTRIN 

for  forgetting  what  you  owe  us.  The  name  of  Frescas 
is  a  guarantee  and  you  bear  it  worthily. 

THE    DUCHESS    OF    CHRISTOVAL,   tO    RdOul. 1    wish    yOU 

would  tell  us  now  who  j'ou  are,  if  not  for  your  sake,  at 
least  for  that  of  your  friends. 

RAOUL. — I  should  be  much  concerned  if  my  presence 
here  were  the  occasion  of  the  slightest  discussion. 
But,  as  certain  precautions  of  speech  are  apt  to  wound 
as  deeply  as  the  most  direct  questioning,  I  should  pre- 
fer that  this  fencing  come  to  an  end,  as  it  is  unworthy 
of  you  or  of  me.  Madame  la  Duchesse  certainly  did 
not  invite  me  to  her  home  to  have  me  submitted  to 
such  interrogatories.  I  recognize  in  no  one  the  right 
of  calling  me  to  account  for  a  silence  I  consider  it  best 
to  preserve. 

THE  .MARQUIS.  —  But  you  Icavc  us  the  right  of  inter- 
preting this  silence,  do  you  not? 

RAOUL. — If  I  claim  freedom  for  my  conduct,  I 
surely  have  no  right  to  chain  yours. 

THE     DUCHESS     OF    MONTSOREL,    tO      Ji'dOlll. — VoU    UlUSt 

not  answer,  sir;  your  dignity  is  at  stake. 

THE  DUKE. — You  are  a  noble  young  man;  you  have 
the  natural  distinction  of  a  gentleman;  but  do  not  run 
against  the  world's  incjuisitiveness;  it  is  the  safeguard 
of  all  of  us.  Your  sword  caVinot  close  the  mouth  of  all 
questioners,  and  society,  generous  as  it  is  toward  all 
true  modesty  is  pitiless  in  its  treatment  of  unjustified 
pretensions. 

RAOUL. — Sir — 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOKKL,  spcakiiKj  to  Ruoul  riipidUj 
and  low. — Do  not  say  a  word  about  your  childhood, 
leave  Paris  and  let  me  be  the  only  one  to  know  your 
retreat.     Your  whole  future  is  at  stake. 


VAUTRIN  55 

THE  DUKK. — I  wish  to  be  your  friend,  although  you 
are  my  son's  rival.  Grant  me  your  confidence;  I  am 
honored  by  that  of  the  King.  Tell  me,  how  do  you 
happen  to  belong  to  the  house  of  Frescas,  which  we 
all  thought  extinct? 

RAOUL. — Monsieur  le  Due,  you  are  too  powerful  to 
lack  for  prot^g<?s ;  I  am  not  weak  enough  to  need  a 
protector. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisTOVAL. — I  hope,  sir,  that  you 
will  bear  me  no  ill-will,  if  I  tell  you  that,  as  a  mother, 
the  conclusion  of  this  conversation  has  convinced  me 
that  it  would  be  imprudent  to  admit  you  too  often  into 
the  Christoval  mansion. 

INES,  to  Raoul. — One  word  from  you  would  save  the 
situation,  and  you  keep  silent!  There  is  something, 
then,  that  you  love  better  than  you  do  me? 

RAOUL. — Ines,  I  could  have  stood  everything  but  this 
reproach!  (^Aside.)  Ah,  Vautrin,  why  did  you  compel 
me  to  close  my  lips?  {He  bows  to  the  ladies.  To  the 
Duchess  of  Montsorel.)     You  owe  me  my  happiness. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Obey  mc,  and  I  will 
answer  for  the  result. 

RAOUL,  to  the  Marguis. — I  am  at  your  disposal,  sir. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Until  we  meet  again.  Monsieur  Raoul. 

RAOUL. — De  Frescas,  if  you  please. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Dc  Frcscas,  let  it  be. 
{Exit  Raoul) 

SCENE    XI 
The  Preceding,  minus  Raoul. 

THE  duchess  of  MONTSOREL,  to  the  Duchcss  of  Chris- 
toval.^-You  have  shown  yourself  very  severe. 


56  VAUTRIN 

THE  DitUKss  OF  c H KisT( >VA I,. — You  are  not  aware, 
perhaps,  Madame,  that,  for  the  last  three  months,  this 
youngs  man  has  been  found  wherever  my  daughter  and 
I  have  happened  to  call,  and  that  our  treatment  of  him 
may  not  have  been  very  wise. 

THE  DUKE,  to  tlic  DuckcsK  <if  ('hristovul. — One  mij;ht 
take  him  for  a  prince  in  disguise. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Might  hc  not  be,  rather,  a  man  of  no 
account  masquerading  as  a  prince? 

THF.  DUCHESS  or  MONTSOKEL. — Your  father  could  tell 
you,  sir,  that  such  disguises  arc  not  easy  to  wear. 

iNEs. — A  man  of  no  account,  did  you  say,  sir?  Do 
you  not  know  that  persons  of  our  class  may  be  raised 
to  a  higher  sphere,  but  are  incapable  of  dropping 
lower. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  cHkisTOVAL. — What  are  you  saying, 
Ines? 

INES. — He  is  not  here  now,  mamma.  ICither  hc  was 
out  of  his  wits,  or  these  gentlemen  lacked  in  gener- 
osity. 

THE  DUCHESS    OF  CHKISTOVAL,    to    t/lC    Ihu/lCSS   (if    Moill- 

!<07-eL — I  realize,  Madame,  that  no  explanation  is  pos- 
sible now,  especially  in  Monsieur  de  Montsorel's 
presence;  but  our  honor  is  concerned  and  I  shall 
expect  your  early  visit. 

THE    DUCHESS  OF    MONTSOKEI-. — I    shall    Call    UpOH    yoU 

to-morrow.  {T/ie  /hi/>-c  of  }foiifsorrl  escorts  to  tJie  door 
the  Durhexs  of  C/in'sioval  and  her  dnmjhler.  Tln^  Durhrns 
of  Montsorel  follows.) 


VAUTRIN  57 


SCENE    XII 

The  Duke.      The  Makquis. 

THE  MARQUIS. — It  strikcs  me,  sir,  that  the  visit  of 
this  adventurer,  caused  you,  as  well  as  my  mother,  a 
violent  emotion.  It  did  not  look  as  if  a  mere  mar- 
riage scheme  hung  in  the  balance  but,  as  if  your  very 
existences  were  endangered —  I  saw  that  the  Duchess 
of  Christoval  and  her  daughter  went  away  deeply 
impressed — 

THE  DUKE. — Ah,  why  did  they  come  to  witness  such 
a  discussion? 

THE  MARQUIS. — Then  you,  also,  are  interested  in  that 
fellow  Raoul? 

THE  DUKE. — And  what  of  you?  I  tell  you  that  your 
name,  your  future,  your  marriage  prospects,  every- 
thing that  makes  life  worth  living,  all  this,  and  more, 
has  been  at  stake  before  your  very  eyes. 

THE  MARQUIS.— If  all  that  depends  upon  this  young 
man,  you  may  be  assured  that  I  will  rid  us  of  him  in 
short  order. 

THE  DUKE. — A  duel,  wrctchcd  boy!  If  it  were  your 
sad  luck  to  kill  him,  then,  indeed,  would  the  game  be 
lost ! 

THE  MAKQUIS. — Then,  what  shall  I  do? 

THE  DUKE. — Act  like  a  diplomat — await  develop- 
ments. 

THE  MARQUIS. — But  if  you  are  in  any  peril,  sir,  do 
you  want  me  to  remain  unmoved? 

THE  DUKE, — Leave  me  to  carry  this  burden,  my  son ; 
it  would  crush  you. 


5S  VAUTRIN 

THE  MARQUIS. — But  you  will  spcak,  sir,  you  will  tell 
mc — 

THF-  DUKE. — I  will  tell  you  nothing.  It  would  bring 
too  deep  a  blush  upon  my  cheek  and  yours. 


SCENE    XTII 

The  Preceding.      \'autki.\,  he  is  dressed  ifi   black  and 
bears  a  most  devout  and  liumhlc  appearance  dur- 
ing the  greatest  part  of  the  scene. 

VAUTRIN. — You  must  pardon  me,  Monsieur  le  Due, 
for  entering  thus  unannounced,  but  {he  speaks  close  to 
the  Duke\<^  car)  we  have  been  both  the  victims  of  the 
boldest  of  frauds —  Allow  me  to  say  a  few  words  to 
you  in  private. 

THE  DUKK,  sif/ninf/  to  his  sm)  /o  leave  Ihr  ronni. — You 
may  speak,  sir. 

VAUTRIN. — In  these  days,  Monsieur  le  Due,  every- 
body is  intriguing  to  secure  some  office,  and  all  the 
classes  of  society  are  infected  with  the  same  fever. 
Everybody  wants  to  be  a  colonel,  and  verily,  I  don't 
know  where  the  privates  are  to  come  from.  The  fact 
is,  that  our  country  is  going  to  the  dogs  with  this  uni- 
versal thirst  for  high  positions  and  this  distaste  for 
inferior  ones.  That's  the  fruit  of  revolutionary 
equality.  Religion  is  the  only  remedy  to  oppose  to 
such  corruption. 

THE  DUKE. — What  are  you  driving  at? 

VAUTRIN. — Excuse  this  outburst,  Monseigneur,  but  I 
could  not  help  confiding  to  the  statesman  that  you  are 
and   with   whom    I  am  about  to  work,  the  cause  of  a 


VAUTRIN  59 

confusion  that  grieves  me  greatly.  May  I  ask  you, 
Monsieur  le  Due,  whether  you  have  entrusted  any 
secret  to  one  of  my  subordinates  who  called  upon  you 
this  morning  with  the  wild  intention  of  supplanting 
me  and  of  gaining  your  protection  by  rendering  you 
some  service? 

THE  DUKE. — What?  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  the 
Chevalier  de  Saint-Charles? 

VAUTRIN. — Monsieur  le  Due,  people  of  my  kind  are 
anything  it  pleases  them  to  be  for  the  time  being. 
Neither  that  man,  nor  myself  is  foolish  enough  ever 
to  be  his  real  self;  we  should  be  too  much  the  losers. 

THE  DUKE. — You  Understand,  sir,  that  I  must  have 
absolute  proof  of  your  identity. 

VAUTRIN. — Monsieur  le  Due,  if  you  have  confided  to 
him  any  important  secret,  I  must  have  him  placed  at 
once,  under  surveillance. 

THE  DUKE,  aside. — This  man  looks  much  more  respect- 
able and  sedate  than  the  other  fellow. 

VAUTRIN. — We  call  that  counter-police  work. 

THE  DUKE. — You  ought  not  to  have  come  here,  sir, 
without  being  in  a  position  to  substantiate  your  state- 
ments. 

VAUTRIN. — Monsieur  le  Due,  in  coming  here  I  ful- 
filled my  duty;  I  can  only  hope  that  the  ambition  of 
this  man,  which  makes  him  capable  of  selling  himself 
to  the  highest  bidder,  may  induce  him  to  be  of  serv- 
ice to  you. 

THE  DUKE,  aside.  —  How  can  he  be  aware,  so 
promptly,  of  my  recent  interview  with  this  other  fel- 
low? 

VAUTRIN,  aside. — He  hesitates —  Joseph  was  right, 
here  is  an  important  secret. 


6o  VAUTRIN 

iHE  DUKE. — Sir — 

VAUTKiN. — Monsieur  le  Due — 

IHE  DUKE. — It  is  to  your  interest  as  well  as  to  mine 
to  confound  this  individual. 

VAUTKIN. — It  will  be  dangerous  work  if  he  already 
has  your  secret;  for  he  is  cunning. 

THE  DUKE. — Yes,  the  scamp  was  witty. 

VAUTKIN. — Has  he  received  a  mission  from  you? 

THE  DUKE. — Oh,  nothing  of  any  importance  ;  I  simply 
wanted  him  to  find  out  all  about  Monsieur  de  Frescas. 

VAUTRIN,  aaide. — That's  all,  is  it?  {Aloud.)  I  can 
tell  5'ou  everything  concerning  him,  Monsieur  le  Due, 
Monsieur  de  Frescas  is  a  young  nobleman  whose  fam- 
ily is  gravely  compromised  in  an  affair  of  high-treason. 
On  that  account,  he  dares  not  bear  his  father's  name. 

THE  DUKE. — He  has  a  father? 

VAUTKIN. — He  has  a  father. 

THE  DUKE. — But  whcrc  does  he  come  from?  What 
is  the  amount  of  his  fortune? 

VAUTRIN. — We  are  exchanging  parts,  Monsieur  le 
Due,  and  you  will  allow  me  not  to  answer  you  until  I 
know  the  nature  of  the  interest  your  Lordship  is 
manifesting  toward  Monsieur  de  Frescas. 

THE  DUKK. — You  foTgct  yoursclf,  sir. 

VAUTRIN,  dropping  xnddcnhj  Jiis  Jnnuhlr  niipn. — Yes, 
Monsieur  le  Due,  I  forget  the  immense  distance 
between  those  who  order  spying  done  and  those  who 
do  it. 

THE  DUKE. — Joseph  I 

vvuTRiN,  aside.  —  This  Duke  has  put  spies  after  us — 
I'll  have  to  act  quickly —  {Wliilr  Ihr  Duke  is  hokivfi 
nl  the  door  /Iiroiuf/i  which  he  r.rperfs  .Insrph  lo  answer  his 
snmnio/is,    I'niifrifi  ratiishcs  Ihrauyh  (/  pitml  i/oor.) 


VAUTRIN  61 

THE  DUKE,  turning  to  lohcre  he  supposes  Vautrin  to  be 
standinr]. — You  shall  not  leave  these  premises.  But 
where  has  the  fellow  gone!'  {He  rings  again  and 
Joseph  appears  on  the  threshold.)  Have  all  the  gates  of 
my  house  closed  at  once.  *  An  unknown  man  managed 
to  introduce  himself  here.  Hurry  up  and  have  the 
whole  household  search  for  him —  As  soon  as  found, 
let  him  be  arrested —  {He  enters  the  Duchess'  ovni 
room.) 

JOSEPH,  looking  to  the  place  in  the  wood-ioork  where  is 
hidden  the  panel  door. — He  is  pretty  far  off,  by  this 
time! 

(Curtain  on  Second  x\ct.) 


THIRD    ACT 

(/I  (lrairin<j-rno)u  in  the  mansion  of  Rnoul  dc  Frescos.) 

SCENE   I 

i.AFouRAiLLE,  alofiB. — My  late  father — the  worthy 
man — would  have  felt  delighted,  last  night,  could  he 
have  seen  me.  He  always  recommended  me  to  keep  only 
the  best  company.  All  night  long,  I  chummed  it  with 
ministers'  valets,  ambassadors'  footmen,  dukes', 
princes*  and  peers'  coachmen — a  lot  of  splendid  fellows 
in  fine  feather  and  out  of  harm's  way — they  rob 
nobody  but  their  masters.  My  master  danced  with  a 
beautiful  specimen  of  a  girl  who  had  something  like  a 
million  francs'  worth  of  diamonds  in  her  hair — and  all 
he  cared  for  was  the  bouquet  in  her  hand!  The  poor 
innocent!  Well,  we'll  take  care  of  that  for  him!  Our 
good  old  Jacques  Collin — ah,  I  am  at  it  again,  I  can't 
accustom  myself  to  that  bourgeois  name  of  his —  As 
I  was  saying.  Monsieur  Vautrin  will  fix  that  matter  of 
the  diamonds  directly;  they'll  take  wings,  one  of  these 
days,  and  it  will  be  good  for  them;  it's  unhealthy  for 
them  to  be  locked  up  in  those  stuffy  jewel-boxes — 
besides,  it's  against  the  law  of  the  circulation  of  cur- 
rency. What  a  fellow  our  young  master  is!  How 
well  he  poses  for  the  man  of  untold  fortune!  He  looks 
fine;  he  talks  like  an  angel;  the  heiress  takes  to  him — 

62 


VAUTRIN  63 

and  the  trick  is  done!  All  that's  left  is  to  divide — 
It  will  be  hard-earned  money,  though;  we  have  been 
after  it  over  six  months  now.  What  idiotic  figures  we 
have  had  to  cut!  The  whole  neighborhood  takes  us 
for  a  lot  of  innocents.  But  were  it  not  for  Vautrin 
what  wouldn't  we  be  up  to?  He  said:  "Behave  your- 
selves!" And  here  we  are.  I  am  afraid  of  him  as  I 
am  of  the  police,  and,  and  yet  I  love  him  better  than 
gold. 

VAUTRIN,  calling  outside. — Lafouraille! 

LAFOURAiLLE,  Seeing  him  come  in. — Here  he  comes. 
His  face  doesn't  suit  me  this  morning;  there  is  a 
storm  brewing.  I'd  rather  some  one  else  got  the  brunt 
of  it,  so  I'm  going  to  make  myself  scarce.  {He  walks 
to  the  door  where  he  meets  Vautrin.) 


SCENE    II 
Vautrin.     Lafouraille. 

VAUTRIN,  dressed  in  white  flatmels,  and  wearing  red 
leather  sli2)pers — the  house  attire  of  a  rich  business  man. 
— Lafouraille? 

lafouraille. — Sir. 

VAUTRIN.  —  Where  are  you  going? 

lafouraille. — To  fetch  your  letters. 

VAUTRIN. — I  have  them  here.  Anything  else  you 
want  to  do  now? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Yes,  slr,  to  Set  your  room  to  rights. 

VAUTRIN. — Why  don't  you  say  frankly  that  you  want 
to  keep  away  from  me  this  morning?  I  always  have 
noticed  that  restless  legs  mean  an  uneasy  conscience. 


64  VAUTRIN 

Stop  here  awhile,  we  are  goin^^  to  have  a  talk 
together. 

LAFOURAiLLE. — At  your  servicc,  sir. 

VAUTRIN.  —  I  should  hope  so.  Come  closer.  You 
were  never  tired  repeating,  under  the  beautiful  sky  of 
Provence,  a  certain  story  in  which  you  played  a  sorry 
part.  The  story  of  some  nobleman's  steward  who 
tooled  you  in  great  style.     Don't  you  recall  it? 

LAKOURAiLLE. — I  should  think  I  do!  That  scoundrel 
of  a  steward!  That  Charles  Blondet!  The  only  man 
that  ever  got  the  best  of  mc ! 

VAUTRIN. — Didn't  you  sell  him  your  master  once? 
A  common  enough  performance. 

LAKOURAILLE. — Once !  I  sold  him  my  master  three 
times! 

VAUTRIN. — Ah,  that's  better!  And  what  was  the 
steward's  scheme? 

LAKOURAiLLK. — I'll  tell  you.  At  eighteen,  I  was 
employed  in  the  stables  of  the  Langeac  family — 

VAUTRIN. — I  thought  you  belonged  to  the  Montsorel 
household? 

LAFOUKAILLK. — No,  I  didn't;  and,  happily  for  me, 
the  Duke  saw  me  only  twice.  I  hope  he  has  forgotten 
my  face. 

VAUTRIN.  —  Did  you  rob  him? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Oh,  just  a  trifle. 

vAUTRi.v. — Then,  how  do  you  expect  him  to  forget 
you  ? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Oh,  I  saw  him  yesterday  at  the 
embassy,  and  I  feel  at  ease. 

VAUTRIN. — So  he  IS  the  same  Montsorel,  is  he' 

LAKOURAILLE. — Ycs.  only  we  are  botli  twenty-five 
vears  older;  that  makes  a  diflerence. 


VAUTRIN  65 

VAUTRIN. — Never  mind  about  him  now;  it  only 
occurred  to  me  that  you  had  mentioned  the  name. 
Proceed  with  your  story. 

LAFouRAiLLF. — The  Vicomte  de  Langeac,  my  mas- 
ter, and  this  Duke  de  Montsorel,  were  as  intimate  as 
the  finders  on  one's  liand.  When  the  day  came  to 
take  my  choice  between  the  great  ones  and  the  com- 
mon people,  I  was  not  long  deciding;  I  became  a  full- 
fledged  "citizen,"  and  Citizen  Philippe  Boulard  kept 
in  the  hot  of  it.  My  enthusiasm  was  contagious  and  I 
was  soon  a  power  in  my  neighborhood. 

VAUTRIN, — What!     You  a  politician? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Oh,  that  didn't  last.  I  performed  a 
beautiful  action,  once,  and  that  ruined  me. 

VAUTRIN. — My  friend,  beware  of  beautiful  actions  as 
much  as  of  beautiful  women;  they  are  at  the  bottom 
of  most  disasters.     But  was  the  deed  a  really  fine  one? 

LAFOURAILLE. — You  just  listcu.  After  the  storming 
of  the  Tuileries,  on  the  tenth  of  August,  the  Duke 
confided  the  Vicomte  de  Langeac  to  my  care.  I  fur- 
nished him  with  a  disguise,  I  concealed  and  fed  him, 
all  that  at  the  risk  of  losing  my  popularity  and,  per- 
haps, my  head.  Of  course,  the  Duke  had  encouraged 
me  by  such  trifles  as  a  thousand  louis  or  so ;  when  that 
infamous  Rlondet  came  to  me  and  offered  a  much 
larger  amount  to  give  up  our  5"0ung  master. 

VAUTRIN. — And  you  did  give  him  up? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Ou  the  spot.  They  locked  him  up  in 
the  Abbaye  prison  and  I  found  myself  the  proud 
owner  of  sixty  thousand  livres  in  gold,  in  real  gold. 

VAUTRIN. — Where  does  the  Duke  of  Montsorel  come 
in? 

LAFOURAILLE. — I  am  reaching  him.     When  the  Sep- 


66  VAU'IRIN 

tember  massacres  began,  my  conduct  in  the  matter  did 
not  seem  to  me  as  proper  as  it  had  at  first;  so,  to 
please  my  conscience,  I  called  upon  the  Duke  and 
offered  to  save  his  friend  a  second  time. 

VAUTRiN. — Did  he  pay  you  full  price  for  your  remorse? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — He  had  to;  remorse  was  u  scarce 
commodity  in  those  days.  Well,  he  promised  me 
twenty  thousand  francs  if  I  saved  the  Vicomte  from 
my  friends'  knives.     And  save  him  I  did. 

VAUTRIN. — Twenty  thousand  francs  for  a  Vicomte,  it 
was  dirt  cheap ! 

LAFOURAILLE. — Especially  as  he  was  the  very  last  of 
the  family.  When  I  discovered  that,  it  was  too  late. 
The  wily  steward  had  disposed  of  every  one  of  the 
other  Lanj^eacs,  even  to  a  poor  old  grandmother 
whom  he  sent  to  be  butchered  at  the  Carmelite  prison. 

VAUTRIN. — The  fellow  was  making  a  clean  sweep 
of  it! 

LAFOURAILLE. — Ycs,  and  he  did  not  stop  there, 
either.  Once  informed  of  my  act  of  rescue,  he  sought 
for  our  trail,  found  and  followed  it,  and  discovered  us 
at  Mortagne,  in  the  house  of  an  uncle  of  mine,  where 
the  Vicomte  was  awaiting  a  chance  to  cross  the  Chan- 
nel. Here  again,  the  scoundrel  offered  as  much 
money  as  he  had  already  paid  me.  I  saw  before  me  a 
whole  future  of  perfect  honesty,  and  I  weakened. 
Klondet  had  the  Vicomte  arrested  and  shot  as  a  spy, 
and  my  uncle,  as  well  as  myself,  locked  up  as  his 
accomplices.  To  get  out,  I  had  to  disgorge  every 
solitary  franc  1  had  received. 

VAUTRIN. — That's  the  way  we  get  to  know  the 
human  heart!  You  had  to  deal  with  a  stronger  man 
than  yourself 


VAUTRIN  67 

LAFOURAiLLE. — I  am  not  so  sure  of  that;  he  didn't 
do  a  clean  job  of  it,  after  all — he  left  me  alive. 

VAUTRIN. — Enough  of  it!  Nothing  in  this  story  is  of 
any  use  to  me.  By  the  way,  you  went  into  society, 
last  niglit;  did  you  behave  yourself? 

LAFOURAILLE. — They  were  saying  such  funny  things 
about  their  masters  that  I  didn't  leave  the  servants' 
hall. 

VAUTRIN. — I  thought  I  saw  you  near  the  refreshment 
room;  what  did  you  take? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Oh,  a  Small  glass  of  Madeira,  that's 
all. 

VAUTRIN. — Where  did  you  put  the  dozen  silver-gilt 
spoons  you  took  with  your  glass  of  wine? 

LAFOURAILLE. — SilvcT-gilt  spoous?  I  find  nothing  of 
the  kind  in  my  memory — 

VAUTRIN. — Oh,  you'll  find  them  in  your  mattress,  all 
right.     And  the  Philosopher,  was  he  as  absent-minded? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Oh,  the  poor  Philosopher!  Didn't 
they  make  fun  of  him,  downstairs —  Just  imagine! 
He  got  to  talking  with  a  rather  youngish  coachman, 
and  he  stripped  him  of  most  of  the  lace  on  his  livery. 
Afterwards,  when  we  came  to  look  at  it  close,  it  proved 
imitation  gold!  Those  masters  are  such  swindlers! 
You  can't  be  sure  of  anything  nowadays! 

VAUTRIN,  giving  out  a  shrill  loliidle. — It  is  not  funny 
to  go  on  stealing  in  this  way.  You'll  ruin  the  house 
in  no  time.  It  must  be  stopped  at  once.  {To  three 
servants  just  entering  the  room.)  Come  here,  father 
Buteux,  and  you,  Philosopher,  and  you,  Silk-Thread. 
My,  good  friends,  here  is  a  matter  that  has  to  be 
settled  at  once.     You  are  all  scoundrels! 


68  \-AirRiN 

SCENE    III 

Tm:  Pui.cEDiNG,      Euri.ux.     The  Piulosophkk.      Sii.k.- 

Thrf.ad. 

BUlT.ux. — Here  I  am,  -where  is  the  fire? 

iHK  PHiLosoPHi  K. — Or  tile  i)()lice. 

liUTEUx. — I  would  sooner  have  a  fire,  it  can  be 
quenched. 

THK  I'HiLusoPHKR. — Oh,  the  Other  can  be  smothered. 

LAKOURAiLLi:. — Oh,  he  is  angry  about  trifles! 

nuTEux. — Some  more  moralizinjj,  is  it? 

siLK-i  HRKAi). — None  for  me,  then.  T  haven't  budged 
from  the  house. 

VALTKIN.  — Vou'  Wliv,  tlie  niglil  I  had  you 
exchange  your  \vhile  cap  for  a  footman's  hat,  you, 
]>oisoner — 

biLK-THkKAn. — No  handle  to  my  name,  please — 

VAU  1  RiN.  —  In  the  Field-Marshal's  hall,  while  helping 
me  to  my  fur  coat,  you  helped  yourself  to  the  watch 
of  the  Chief  of  Cossacks — 

siLK-rukKAD. — Oh,  an  enemy  of  my  country! 

VAUTRIN. — You,  Buteux,  old  thief,  you  stole  the 
Princess  of  Arjos'  lorgnette,  the  night  she  drove  our 
young  master  to  his  door. 

liL'TKUx. — Oh,  it  had  dropped  upon  the  carriage- 
steps — 

vAinkiN. — You  ought  to  have  returned  it  with  a 
great  show  of  respect;  but  the  sight  of  gold  and  pearls 
awakened  your  tiger-cat  instincts. 

LAFOURAiLLE. — I  sav,  are  we  to  give  up  every  kind 
of  fun?     Now,  Jacques,  really — 

VAUTRiN. — What's  that? 


VAUTRTN  69 

LAFOURAiLLF.. —  Why,  Monsiciir  Vautrin,  you  want 
your  young  fellow  to  lead,  for  a  paltry  thirty  thousand 
a  year,  the  life  of  a  prince.  We  can  succeed  only  by 
the  methods  of  all  governments,  by  annexing  and  bor- 
rowing. So,  all  those  who  come  here  for  money,  drop 
some  instead —     And  you  are  not  satisfied ! 

SILK-THREAD. — If  I  am  uot  allowcd  to  bring  some 
cash  from  market  when  I  go  there  without  a  franc,  I 
might  as  well  resign. 

THF.  PHILOSOPHER. — And  didn't  I  sell  our  trade — 5,000 
francs  each  time — to  four  different  carriage  makers — 
the  favored  one  to  lose  the  whole  amount  of  his  bill? 
One  evening,  Monsieur  de  Frescas  started  out  behind 
a  pair  of  the  poorest  animals  on  the  street  and  returned 
with  a  ten -thousand  franc  team  hitched  to  his 
brougham.  All  it  cost  was  a  dozen  or  so  of  glasses  of 
the  fiery  stuff.     Is  that  what  you  are  kicking  about? 

SILK-THREAD. — How  do  you  cxpcct  this  house  to  be 
run,  anyway? 

VAUTRIN. — And  how  long  do  you  think  such  things 
can  go  on?  What  I  may  have  tolerated  when  we 
started  this  establishment,  I  forbid  most  positively 
to-day.  From  robbery  you  are  dropping  to  petty 
thieving!  If  I  am  not  understood  better,  I'll  have  to 
choose  another  set  of  servants. 

BUTEUx. — And  where  will  you  find  them? 
.  LAFOURAiLLE. — He  may  hunt  long  for  the  like  of  us! 

VAUTRIN. — You  forget  that  I  have  answered  for 
your  heads  to  you.  Do  you  think  I  have  picked  you 
out  with  such  care  from  three  different  "residences" 
to  allow  you  to  flutter  around  the  scaffold,  like  moths 
about  a  candle?  You  ought  to  know,  by  this  time, 
that  with  us,  an  imprudent  move  is  worse  than  a  crime. 


70  VAUTRIN 

You  should  look  so  absolutely  guileless  that  you, 
Philosopher,  would  be  the  one  to  have  his  gold  lace 
ripped  oflf —  Don't  forget,  for  a  minute,  the  parts  you 
are  playing — that  of  honest  and  faithful  servants  to 
Monsieur  de  Frcscas,  whom  you  adore. 

BUTEUX. — You  are  treating  the  young  one  like  a 
kind  of  god.  You  have  hitched  us  to  his  hand-cart, 
and  we  don't  know  any  more  of  him  than  he  does  of  us. 

THE  PHILOSOPHER. — In  a  word,  is  he  one  of  our  sort? 

SILK-THREAD. — Whcrc  is  the  whole  thing  going  to 
lead  us  to? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — We  obev  you  under  the  express 
agreement  that  you  are  to  reorganize  tlie  Ten  Thou- 
sand gang,  which  is  never  to  distribute  less  than  that 
amount  after  every  haul.  -;\.nd  we  have  not  yet  put  a 
franc  in  the  treasury. 

siLK-THRK.AD. — Whcu  are  we  to  be  capitalists? 

BUTEUX, — If  my  old  chums  knew  that,  for  the  last 
six  months,  I  have  kept  myself  disguised  as  a  worn-out 
old  janitor,  and  all  for  nothing,  they  would  think  me 
dishonored.  If  I  consent  to  risk  my  head,  it's  for  the 
sake  of  my  Adele,  whom  you  won't  let  me  see. 

LAFouRAiLLK,  to  the  otlicrs. — She  is  locked  up  tight. 
Poor  fellow,  let  us  spare  him  the  news. 

VAUTRIN. — Are  you  through  your  talking?  For  the 
last  six  months  you  have  had  the  greatest  time  in  your 
lives,  you  have  dined  like  diplomats,  you  have  drunk 
like  Poles,  you  have  lived  off  the  fat  of  the  land — 

BUTKUx. — But  we  are  getting  rusty! 

VAUTRIN. — Thanks  to  me,  the  police  have  forgotten 
you!  And  to  whom  do  you  owe  this  blessed  exist- 
ence? Who  has  managed  to  wipe  off  from  your  brows 
the  red  mark   that  branded  you?     I  tell  you,  I  am  the 


VAUTRIN  71 

head  that  conceives,  you  are  merely  the  arms  that 
execute. 

THE  PHILOSOPHKR. We  kuOW  it. 

VAUTRIN. — Are  you  going-  to  obey  me  blindly? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Blindly. 

VAUTRIN. — Without  a  murmur? 

siLK-THRKAD. — Without  a  wink. 

VAUTRIN. — Otherwise  we  might  as  well  break  our 
compact  right  away!  If  you  are  not  grateful  tome, 
where  is  gratitude  to  be  found  in  this  world? 

THE  PHILOSOPHER. — YouTS,  forever,  our  emperor! 

LAFOURAILLE. — OuT  great  man! 

BUTEUX. — I  love  you  better  than  I  do  my  Adele! 

SILK-THREAD. — We  simply  worship  you! 

VAUTRIN. — If  I  feel  like  it,  I  must  be  free  to  strike 
you! 

THE  PHILOSOPHER. — We'll  staud  the  blows  without  a 
protest. 

VAUTRIN. — I  want  to  be  able  to  spit  in  your  faces  if 
I  care  to,  to  risk  your  lives  as  if  they  were  of  no 
account — 

BUTEUX. — A  moment,  please,  and  I'll  bring  out  the 
knife — 

VAUTRIN. — Do  so,  then,  and  stab  me  right  now! 

BUTEUX. — One  can't  get  angry  with  such  a  man!  If 
you  want  to,  I'll  return  the  lorgnette?  It  was  for 
Adele. 

ALL,  surrounding  Vautrin. — You  are  not  thinking  of 
forsaking  us,  are  you? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Vautriu,  our  friend! 

THE  PHILOSOPHER. — The  great  and  only  Vautrin! 

SILK-THREAD. — You  dear  old  pal,  do  with  us  what  you 
please ! 


■J  2  VAUTRIN 

VAUTKiN. — Oh,  1  can  always  do  with  you  what  I 
please —  No  trouble  about  that —  When  I  think  of  the 
plans  you  are  endangering  by  your  petty  thieving,  it 
makes  me  feel  like  sending  you  all  back  where  you 
came  from.  You  are  either  below  or  above  society — 
its  scum  or  its  dregs;  I  am  trying  hard  to  get  you 
within  its  boundaries  again.  The  people  used  to  hoot 
5'ou  when  you  passed  along  the  street  in  chained  gangs ; 
I  want  them  to  salute  you  as  they  would  respectable 
citizens.  You  were  criminals;  I'll  transform  you  into 
virtuous  members  of  society,  or  better. 

THE  rHiLosoPHKK.— Are  there  any  better  people? 

BUTEUX. — Yes,  those  who  are  neither  good  nor  bad. 

VAUTKIN. — No,  those  who  decide  about  the  virtue  of 
others.  You'll  never  be  respectable  gentlemen  of  the 
middle  class;  you  must  remain  as  you  arc,  or  become 
enormously  rich ;  to  do  that  you'll  have  to  step  over 
half  the  social  edifice!  Bathe  in  gold  and  you'll  come 
out  virtuous! 

siLK-THKKAD. — That's  so,  I  know  I'll  be  as  good  as 
good  bread,  the  moment  I  have  all  I  want ! 

VAUTRIN. — You,  Lafouraille,  you  may  become  Comte 
de  Saint-Helene,  like  one  of  our  distinguished  friends; 
and  you,  Buteux,  what  do  you  want  to  l)e? 

BUTEUX. — A  philanthropist;  it's  the  shortest  way  to 
wealth. 

THK  PHILOSOPHER. — I'll  tuni  baukcr. 

siLK-THRKAD. — Hc  dreams  of  being  a  tax-payer. 

VAUTRIN. — If  you  wish  to  attain  all  that,  be  by  turns 
blind  and  far-seeing,  awkward  and  skillful,  simple  and 
clever.  Never  try  to  judge  me  nor  to  guess  more 
than  I  tell  you.  You  want  to  know  about  this  Frescas 
affair.     Here  it  is  in  a  nut  shell.      Raoul  is  on  the  eve 


VAUTRIN  73 

of  acquiring  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year 
and  the  title  of  prince;  and  I  picked  him  up  a  little 
beggar  on  the  street,  about  to  enlist  as  a  drummer 
boy.  At  twelve  years  old,  he  had  no  name,  no  family, 
he  was  a  runaway  from  Sardinia,  hunted  down  for 
something. 

nuTKUx. — Oh,  now  that  we  know  all  about  his  past 
and  future — 

VAUTRIN. — You'd  best  return  to  your  janitor's  lodge, 
which  you  ought  never  to  have  left  unwatched. 

BUTEUx. — Oh,  I  put  little  Nini,  the  daughter  of 
Giroflee,  in  charge. 

vAUTRix. — She  may  have  allowed  a  fly  to  squeeze 
through. 

BUTKUx.  —  Not  she;  she  is  a  little  weasel  to  whom 
you  needn't  show  the  tricks. 

VAUTRIN. — By  what  I  have  almost  achieved  for 
Raoul,  5'-ou  may  judge  of  what  I  can  do  for  you.  But 
ought  he  not  to  be  provided  for  first?  Raoul  de 
Frescas  is  a  young  man  who,  in  our  pig-stye,  has 
remained  as  pure  and  undefiled  as  an  angel.  He  is 
our  conscience;  then  again  he  is  my  creation;  I  am, 
all  in  one,  his  father  and  mother,  and  his  Provi- 
dence, to  boot,  I  love  to  make  some  one  happy — I  for 
whom  there  is  no  more  happiness.  It  is  as  if  I  were 
breathing  through  his  lips,  living  his  life,  thrilling 
with  his  emotions.  It  is  only  in  his  heart,  unsullied 
by  any  crime,  that  I  can  feel  what  honesty  and  good- 
ness mean.  Everybody  has  his  whim,  his  hobby — he 
is  mine.  In  exchange  for  the  brand  society  has  placed 
upon  me,  I  return  to  it  a  man  of  perfect  honor.  I 
challenge  Fate  in  this  creation.  If  you  want  to  be  my 
co-laborers,  obey  mc ! 


74  VAUTRIX 

ALL. — We  will!     Wc  will!     Through  life  and  death! 

VAUTRIN,  aside. — I  have  got  my  wild  beasts  tamed 
again.  {Aland.)  Philosopher,  make  up  like  a  clerk  in 
the  "Lost  and  Strayed"  office  and  return  to  the 
embassy  the  spoons  Lafouraille  purloined  there  last 
night.  Silk-Thread,  Monsieur  de  Frescas  expects  a 
few  friends  to  luncheon  to-day;  have  the  meal  espe- 
cially choice.  We  shall  not  dine  here  this  evenin;;. 
As  soon  as  yon  can,  dress  up  like  a  respectable  look- 
ing solicitor  and  go  to  No.  6  rue  Oblin.  Walk  np  to 
the  fourth  floor  and  pull  the  bell  seven  times.  You'll 
ask  for  "Father  (riroflec."  They'll  ask  you,  "Where 
are  you  coming  from?"  "From  a  seaport  in  Bohe- 
mia," you'll  answer.  They'll  let  you  in.  I  need 
several  letters  and  papers  from  the  hand  of  Monsieur 
le  Due  de  Christoval.  Here  is  the  text  to  be  copied 
and  here  arc  the  models  of  handwriting.  I  must  have 
perfect  imitations  in  the  briefest  possible  time. 
Lafouraille,  you'll  go  to  the  newspapers  and  get  a  few 
lines  inserted  concerning  the  arrival  of —  (ffn  whis- 
pers a  few  words  to  him.)     That's  part  of  my  scheme. 

LAFOURAILLE. — Now,  are  you  satisfied? 

VAUTRIN. — I  am. 

THP.  PHiLosoPHKK. — Not  angry  with   us  any  longer? 

VAUTRIN. — Not  any  longer. 

sii.K-THRKAD. — There'll  be  no  more  complainings. 
We'll  be  good. 

BUTKUx. — Don't  you  worry  about  us —  "We'll  be  so 
polite  and  honest — 

VAUTRIN. — That's  right,  my  children —  A  little 
honesty,  lots  of  manners,  and  you'll  succeed  in  good 
time. 


VAUTRIN  75 


SCENE    IV 

VAUTRIN,  alone. — All  that's  needed  to  lead  these  fel- 
lows is  to  speak  to  them  of  their  honor  and  of  their 
future.  Of  course,  they  have  no  future.  But  what 
does  it  matter!  If  a  general  minded  his  soldiers' 
lives,  no  gun  would  ever  be  fired!  The  main  thing  is 
that,  at  last,  after  twelve  j'ears  of  secret  toil,  I  soon 
shall  have  won — for  Raoul — an  unimpeachable  posi- 
tion. It  only  needs  to  be  strengthened.  For  that  I'll 
require,  for  a  short  while  longer,  the  assistance  of 
Lafouraille  and  the  Philosopher  in  the  country  where 
Raoul  will  be  supposed  to  have  discovered  his  family. 
This  love  affair  of  the  boy  has  upset  all  my  plans.  I 
wanted  him  to  be  famous  by  his  own  acts,  a  conqueror 
on  his  own  account  and  by  my  advice,  of  this  world, 
the  precincts  of  which  it  will  be  forever  forbidden  me 
to  enter.  Raoul  is  not  alone  the  son  of  my  mind  and 
the  offspring  of  my  bitterness,  he  also  is  the  incarnation 
of  my  vengeance.  My  rascals  cannot  understand  such 
feelings;  they  are  happy;  they  did  not  fall  from 
grace,  crime  is  their  natural  element;  while  I — I  did 
try  to  rise  from  the  common  rabble.  But,  if  man  may 
retrieve  himself  in  the  eyes  of  God,  he  can  never  do 
so  in  the  eyes  of  society.  We  are  asked  to  repent, 
but,  if  we  do,  no  pardon  is  forthcoming.  Toward  each 
other,  men  have  the  instincts  of  ferocious  beasts;  once 
wounded,  one  is  trampled  upon  by  his  fellows.  It  is 
true,  that  to  claim  society's  protection  after  you  have 
trodden  its  laws  under  your  feet,  is  like  returning 
under  a  roof  you  have  yourself  helped  to  weaken  and 
which  is  sure  to  crush  you  in  its  fall.     But  how  I  have 


76  VArTRIN 

polished,  how  I  liave  caressed  this  instrunicnt  of  my 
future  power!  By  nature,  Raoul  was  brave,  he  would 
have  had  himself  killed  like  a  fool,  had  1  not  rendered 
him  cold  and  matter-of-fact.  I  had  to  snatch  from 
him,  one  after  the  other,  all  his  fair  illusions  and  to 
clothe  him  with  the  shroud  of  experience;  I  have  made 
him  as  shrewd  and  calculatini^  as  an  old  usurer,  while 
keeping  him  in  ignorance  of  my  true  identity.  And 
to-day,  comes  Love  and  destroys  this  laboriously- 
built  edifice!  Raoul  was  to  be  great,  and  he  will  bo 
only  happy!  As  for  me,  I'll  seek  a  corner  in  the  sun 
of  his  prosperity,  knowing  his  bliss  to  be  my  work. 
But  for  the  last  two  days,  I  have  been  asking  myself 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  if  the  Princess  of  Arjos 
should  die  of — brain  fever,  or  something.  It's 
incredible  what  a  woman  can  destroy ! 


SCENE   V 

Vautrin.      Lafouraillk. 

VAUTRiN. — What  is  it  now?  Can  I  not  be  left  a 
moment  in  peace?     I  did  not  call. 

i.AFOUK  Mi.i.i . — The  claw  of  the  central  olhcc  is  trying 
to  tickle  our  shoulders. 

VAUTRIN. — What's  the  latest  foolish  tiling  you  have 
done? 

LAFOURAiLLK. — Well,  Niui  let  slip  through  the  gate  a 
well-dressed  gentleman  wlio  wants  to  speak  to  you.  I 
just  heard  Buteux  whistling,  "Where  can  one  better 
be  than  in  one's  family?"     He's  a  fly  cop. 

VAiTKiN.  —  Is  that  all?     Have  him  wait  in  this  room, 


VAUTRIN  77 

and  everybody  on  deck.  I  know  who  he  is,  and  I 
am  going  to  put  on  my  Baron  de  Vieux-Chene  make- 
up. So,  you  just  "sbeeg  Tutch"  until  I  come  back. 
I'll  leave  him  to  you;  do  him  brown! 


SCENE   VI 

Lafouraillk.      Saint- Charles. 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Meiu  lierr  ti  Vraissgasse  nod  here, 
mein  herr,  unt  his  jaraperlain,  de  Paron  ti  Fieux-Jaine, 
he  is  bizi  mit  ein  argidegt  wer  vill  bilt  a  grant  palatz 
for  mein  masder. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — What  name  did  you  say,  my  dear 
man  ? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Der  Parou  ti  Fieux-Jaine. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — A  barou? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Ya,  ya. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Barou  of  what? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Ti  Fieux-Jaiue. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — I  sec,  you  are  German. 

LAFOURAILLE. — No  German,  no  German,  Alsacer! 
Der  is  greadt  tifference — Die  German  dey  say 
"roper,"  and  die  Alsacer  dey  say  "repair." 

SAINT-CHARLES,  cisicle. — Thls  IS  too  strong  a  German 
accent  to  come  from  any  place  outside  of  Paris. 

LAFOURAILLE,  asiiU. — I  kuow  the  fellow — don't  I, 
though? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — If  the  Baron  de  Vieux-Chene  is 
busy,  I'll  await  his  leisure. 

LAFOURAILLE,  asicU. — Ah,  Blondet,  darling,  you  hide 
your   features  all  right,    but  you  can't  change   your 


78  VAUTRIN 

voice!  If  you  escape  our  clutclics,  this  time,  you'll  be 
in  luck!  (Ahufl.)  Vat  musd  I  say  to  tuein  herr 
Paron  to  mage  him  receive  you?  {lie  innke)^  a  more  as 
if  fo  Irnvc  IJie  room.) 

SAINT-CHAKLES. — A  momcnt,  please,  ray  dear  man. 
You  are  speaking  a  kind  of  (xerman  and  I  another 
language;  we  might  not  itnderstand  each  other.  {lie 
puts  a  purse  in  ///.<?  //and.)  With  that  interpreter,  we'll 
get  on  all  right. 

LAKOUKAiLi.i.. — Vu,  mciu  Hcrr. 

SAiNT-cHAKLKS. — It's  ouly  a  Starter. 

LA  FOUR  A  It. i.F,  aside. — A  first  install  mcjit  on  my 
80,000  francs.  {Aloud.)  So  you  vill  dat  I  sby  ofer 
my  masder? 

SAINT-CHAKLKS. — Spy^  upou  your  master?  Indeed 
not —  I  only  want  you  to  give  me  a  few  bits  of  infor- 
mation that  won't  compromise  you. 

LAFOUKAiLLK. — In  koot  Tutch,  ve  call  dat  shying 

SAIXT-CHAKLFS. No,    UO,    it  is 

LAFOUKAILLK. — Sbying.  And  vat  do  you  vant  me 
do  dell  mein  herr  Paron  aboudt  you? 

SAiNT-CHARLFs. — Annouucc  Monsieur  le  Chevalier 
de  Saint-Charles. 

LAFOURAiLLF. — Oh,  I  Understand ;  I  vill  him  to  you 
bringen.  Rut  you  musd  nod  money  to  de  Paron  offer. 
He  honest  man  is,  more  than  you  oder  me.  {lie  pokes 
the  Chrvolier  in  the  rihs  fiDuiliarli/.) 

SAiNT-cHARLFS. — You  uican  that  he  costs  more? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Ya,    mcin  herr.       {E.rit   Lnfouraille.) 

SCENE    VII 

SAiNT-rHAKLFs,  dlone. — A  stupid  start!  Ten  louis 
thrown    away!      "Sbying" —      That    way   of    calling 


VAUTRIX  79 

things  by  their  name,  strai^^ht  away,  is  too  stupid  not 
to  be  very  clever —  If  the  bogus  chamberlain — for 
noblemen  don't  keep  chamberlains  nowadays — is  as 
cunning  as  his  footman,  I'll  have  to  depend  not  on 
what  they  say  but  on  what  they'll  try  to  conceal,  to 
lead  me  to  discoveries.  This  drawing-room,  to  begin 
with,  is  quite  the  correct  thing — no  portrait  of  the 
King  and  no  Napoleonic  bric-a-brac.  The  owner's 
opinions  are  kept  under  cover.  What  does  the  furni- 
ture indicate?  Nothing  special,  except  that  it  is  still 
too  new  to  have  been  paid  for.  Were  it  not  that 
peculiar  whistle  of  the  janitor,  which  sounded  like  a 
warning,  I'd  feel  like  believing  in  the  genuineness  of 
the  Frescas. 


SCENE   VIII 

Saint-Charles.     Vautrin.      Lafouraille. 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Mein  herr,  der  is  de  Paron  ti  Fieux- 
Jaine. 

{Vautrin  appears  dressed  in  a  liglit  hroiuji  coat,  cut  in 
the  fashio)i  of  Louis  XV.'' s  time,  and  until  large,  engraved 
buttons;  lie  ivears  stnall  clotlies  of  Hack  satin  with  hose  of 
silk,  low  shoes,  a  large  square,  flowered  waistcoat,  two 
ivatch-chains,  a  necktie  in  the  style  of  the  revolutionary 
days,  and  a  wig  of  jiou-dered  lohite  hair.  His  face  is  made 
tip  like  that  of  a  very  old.courtier  and  sinner.  He  syeaks 
in  a  loio,  smooth  and  worn-oiit  voice.) 

vautrin,  to  Lafouraille. — That's  all  right.  You  may 
leave  the  room.     {Aside.)     And  now,  let  us  fight  it 


8o  VAUTRIN 

out,  Monsieur  Blondct.  (Aloin/.)  Your  Inimlile  serv- 
ant, sir. 

SAIN  r-CHARLEs,  fisiile. — A  used-up  fox,  though  dan- 
^^erous  still —  {Aloud.)  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me, 
Monsieur  le  Baron,  if  I  intrude  upon  you  without  an 
introduction. 

vAUTKix. — I  think  I  guess  wluit  is  bringing  you 
here,  sir. 

SAiNT-CHARLF.s,  (iKidc. — I  woudcr  if  he  does. 

VAUTRIN. — You  are  an  architect,  I  suppose,  and  you 
want  to  offer  your  services ;  but  I  am  already  m  pos- 
session of  superb  proposals. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Excuse  me,  but  I'm  afraid  your 
German  valet  did  not  give  you  my  name  right.  I  am 
the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Charles. 

VALTKIN,  raisiny  his  spectacles. — Are  you?  Well,  yes, 
of  course —  But  we  are  old  acquaintances  then' 
You  attended  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  and  your  name 
there  was  Comte  de  Gorcum — a  good  name — 

SAINT-CHARLES,  aside. — Isn't  he  getting  mixed  up, 
the  old  fool  I  (Aloud.)  Oh,  so  you  were  there  too, 
were  you? 

vAUTKiN. — Indeed  I  wasl  You  don't  know  how 
delighted  I  am  to  meet  you  again  I  You  showed  your- 
self such  a  clever  fellow!  Oh,  but  didn't  we  fool 
them,  didn't  we  fool  them  I 

SAiNT-CHAkLKS,  (iside. — All  right,  Vienna  let  it  be. 
(AloJid.)  Ah,  now,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  I  remember 
you  perfectly  well.  How  cleverly  yf)U  did  handle  your 
ship  in  those  treacherous  waters. 

VAUTRIN. — Well,  you  know,  we  had  the  women  on 
our  side —  By  the  way,  do  you  still  have  your  beau- 
tiful Italian  girl? 


VAUTRIN  8 1 

SAINT-CHARLES. — You  kncw  her,  then;  she  was  the 
cleverest  little  thing — 

VAUTRIN. — Of  course  she  was!  Why  she  actually 
tried  to  discover  who  I  was. 

SAiNT-cHAKLis. — If  shc  tried,  she  succeeded. 

VAUTRIN. — Well — my  dear  fellow,  you  won't  be 
angry,  if  I  tell  you  that  she  discovered  nothing. 

SAiNT-CHARLES. — My  dear  Baron,  if  we  are  to  be  so 
frank  to  each  other,  I'll  confess  that  the  adorable 
Polish  Countess  you  were  so  devoted  to — 

VAUTRIN. — What,  you  also? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — I  havc  to  acknowledge  the  soft 
impeachment. 

VAUTRIN,  laufjIiiiKj. — Ha!   Ha!   Ha!   Ha! 

SAiNT-cHARLKS,  joininy  hi  the  langhtor. — Ho!  Ho! 
Ho!  Ho! 

VAUTRIN. — I  suppose  wc  may  laugh  about  it  freely, 
for  you  certainly  have  left  her  behind? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Of  couTsc ;  I  did  as  you  had  done 
j'ourself  before  me.  For  we  have  both  come  to  Paris 
to  enjoy  our  earnings,  and  we  were  right —  It  seems 
to  me  though,  Baron,  that  you  have  accepted  a  very 
secondary  position,  here.  Not  that  it  is  not  con- 
spicuous enough ! 

VAUTRIN. — Many  thanks,  Chevalier,  many  thanks. 
I  hope  now  that  we'll  be  friends  for  a  long  while. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Forcver. 

VAUTRIN. — Let  us  come  to  some  agreement  then. 
You  can  be  of  great  use  to  me  and  I  may  serve  you 
enormously.  Now,  just  tell  me  what  your  interest  is 
in  this  house,  and  I'll  tell  you  mine. 

SAINT-CHARLES,  asicU. — I  Say,  is  he  after  me  or  I  after 
him? 


82  VAUTRIN 

VAUTKiN,  aside. — We  may  ^o  on  in  this  way  forever! 

SAiNT-cHARLKS,  aloiid. — I'll  spealv  first,  then. 

VAUTRIN. — All  right. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — BctwecH  you  and  me.  Baron,  I 
admire  you  g^reatly. 

VAUTRIN. — What  praise  from  your  lips! 

SAINT-CHARLKS. — No,  houcstly.  The  creation  of  a 
Frescas  in  the  face  of  Parisian  society,  is  a  master- 
piece that  excels  a  thousand  times  all  our  countesses 
and  baronesses  of  the  Vienna  Congress.  Vou  are  fish- 
ing for  a  dowry  with  rare  audacity. 

VAUTRIN. — I,  fishing  for  a  dowry? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Yes,  my  dear  man,  you  are;  and 
your  daring  scheme  would  be  exposed  this  very  day  if 
it  were  not  that  I,  your  old  friend,  am  the  very  person 
instrusted  by  people  in  the  highest  position  with  the 
mission  of  finding  you  out.  Rut  how  could  it  come 
into  your  head — excuse  my  temerity — how  could  it 
come  into  your  wise  head  to  dispute  with  the  powerful 
house  of  Montsorel  for  an  heiress? 

VAUTRIN. — I  am  dumfounded!  Why,  I  thought  you 
came  to  me  to  propose  that  we  should  go  together  into 
some  venture,  using  the  Frescas  money,  which  is 
entirely  under  my  control!  And  now,  you  are  telling 
me  a  tale  you  must  have  dreamed.  Why,  my  dear, 
Frescas  is  one  of  the  seven  legitimate  names  of  this 
young  Spanish  nobleman.  Most  important  reasons 
will  prevent  him,  for  twenty-four  hours  longer,  from 
declaring  his  true  position  in  the  world.  1  know  all 
alx)ut  his  family  and  his  immense  wealth;  I  have  just 
come  from  a  visit  of  inspection  over  the  estates.  I 
don't  mind  so  much  your  taking  me  for  a  sharper — the 
huge  amount  at  stake  is  sufficient  excuse — but  to  have 


VAUTRIN  83 

thought  mc  such  an  unconscionable  fool  as  to  have 
placed  myself  in  the  train  of  some  cheap  adventurer 
and  to  be  fighting  for  his  sake  such  people  as  the 
Montsorels*—  Why,  such  a  stupid  blunder,  my  dear 
fellow,  is  proof  sufficient  that  you  never  went  to 
Vienna!  We  are  not  running  in  the  same  class,  my 
man! 

SAINT-CHAKLES. — Dou't  cxcitc  yourself  to  no  purpose, 
respectable  chamberlain !  Why  should  we  try  any 
longer  to  trip  each  other  by  means  of  more  or  less 
clever  inventions?  You  cannot  expect  me  to  swallow 
any  more  of  them.  I  tell  you,  our  cash-box  is  fuller 
than  yours,  you  will  do  well  to  come  over  to  our  side! 
Your  Frescas  is  as  much  a  Frescas  as  I  am  a  chevalier 
and  you  a  baron.  You  met  him  on  the  Italian  coast : 
then  he  was  a  tramp;  now  he  is  an  adventurer;  that's 
all  the  difference! 

VAUTRIN. — Very  well,  let  us  stop  telling  each  other 
more  or  less  agreeable  lies;  the  time  has  come  for  the 
bare  truth. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — I'll  pay  you  for  it. 

VAUTRIN. — Here  it  is,  free  of  charge.  You  are  an 
infamous  rascal,  my  dear  fellow.  Your  name  is 
Charles  Blondet;  you  were  the  steward  of  the  house 
of  Langeac;  twice  you  bought  the  Vicomte,  to  deliver 
him  to  sure  death,  and  you  did  not  even  pay  the  price — 
that's  contemptible!  You  owe  80,000  francs  on  that 
score  to  one  of  my  servants.  You  had  the  Vicomte 
shot,  at  Mortagne,  to  secure  for  yourself  the  fortune 
confided  to  you  by  the  family.  If  the  Duke  of  Mont- 
sorel,  who  sent  you  here,  knew  what  kind  of  a  man 
you  are — he — he — to  what  strange  accounting  might 
he   not  call   you?      Take    off    your    moustache,   your 


84  VAUTRIN 

whiskers,  your  counterfeit  crosses  and  stars —  {As 
he  speaks,  he  tears  off  the  articles  he  e>iuinerates.)  Good- 
morning,  scoundrel;  how  did  you  manage  to  devour 
so  quickly  the  wealth  so  cleverly  stolen?  It  was 
enormous,  where  did  you  lose  it? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — I  was  luilucky. 

VAUTRIN. — I  understand —  But  what  are  you  after 
now? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Whocver  you  are,  here  is  my  hand; 
I  give  up;  to-day,  again,  I  am  unlucky!  But  you 
must  be  the  Evil  One  or  Jacques  Collin  himself! 

VAUTRIH. — For  you  I  am  and  will  be  the  Baron  de 
Vieux-Chene  and  no  one  else.  Now  listen  to  my 
ultimatum ;  if  I  want  to,  I  can  have  you  buried  alive 
within  five  minutes  in  one  of  the  cellars  of  this  house. 
Nobody  will  look  for  you. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Truc  cnough. 

VAUTRIN. — It  will  be  healthier  to  obey  me.  You'll 
have  to  do  for  me  in  the  Montsorel  mansion,  what 
they  sent  you  to  do  here. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Accepted.  What  is  there  in  it  for 
me? 

VAUTRIN. — All  you  can  get  hold  of! 

SAiNT-CHARLES, — From  both  sides? 

VAUTRIN. — From  both  sides.  The  first  thing  you'll 
have  to  do,  though,  will  be  to  deliver  to  one  of  my  men 
all  the  documents  concerning  the  Langeac  family ;  you 
must  have  them  concealed  somewhere.  When  Mon 
sieur  de  Frescas  marries  Mademoiselle  de  Christcjval, 
you  shall  not  be  appointed  his  steward,  but  I  will  yjay 
you  100,000  francs  in  cash.  The  people  you  are  to 
work  for  are  hard  to  please  but,  if  you  walk  straight, 
you  will  not  be  betrayed. 


VAUTRIN  85 

SAINT-CHARLES. — It's  a  bargain. 

VAUTRIN. — It  will  be  ratified  only  when  the  docu- 
ments in  question  are  in  my  hands,  until  then, 
beware !  [He  rings  the  belly  all  the  servants  appear  sud- 
denly and  at  the  same  time.)  Show  the  door  to  this  gen- 
tleman with  all  the  honors  due  to  his  rank.  [He  points 
out  the  Philosopher  to  Saint -Charles.)  Here  is  the  man 
who  will  accompany  you.  [To  the  Philosopher.)  Don't 
leave  him  a  moment. 

SAINT-CHARLES,  aside. — If  I  get  myself  safe  out  of 
their  clutches,  I'll  have  this  nest  of  robbers  cleaned 
out  in  no  time. 

VAUTRIN. — Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  your  very  humble 
servant ! 


SCENE    IX 

Vautrin.     Lakouraille. 

LAFouRAiLLE. — MonsieuT  Vautrin. 

VAUTRIN. — Well,  what  is  it? 

LAFOURAILLE. — You  let  him  off? 

VAUTRIN. — If  he  did  not  think  himself  a  free  man, 
what  could  we  learn  through  him?  But  my  instruc- 
tions are  out;  he'll  be  taught  not  to  bring  a  rope 
among  people  that  deserve  hanging.  By  the  way, 
when  the  Philosopher  returns  with  the  papers  this  man 
is  going  to  hand  over  to  him,  they  must  be  brought  to 
me  wherever  I  shall  be. 

LAFOURAILLE. — But  wheu  that's  done,  will  you  leave 
him  alive? 

VAUTRIN. — You  are  always  too  quick  about  these 
things,  my  darlings!     Don't  you  know  how  trouble- 


86  VAUTRIN 

some   the   dead    are   to   the    living?      Hush!      I   hear 
Raoul  coming. 


SCENE    X 

Raol'L.      Vauirin. 

{At  first  Raoul  is  alone  uu  the  stage  and  spca/iS  his 
nwtioloyue  in  front.  Vautrin  comes  in  when  liaoul  is 
almost  through  hut  is  not  noticed  until  he  sj)eaks.) 

RAOUL. — To  have  had  a  glimpse  of  heaven  and  to  be 
thrown  back  roughly  upon  the  earth,  such  is  my  fate! 
I  am  lost!  Vautrin,  this  genius  both  kindly  and  dia- 
bolical, who  knows  everything,  and  seems  able  to  do 
anything;  this  man  so  hard  to  others  and  so  gentle  to 
me ;  for  whose  conduct  there  is  no  explanation  outside 
of  fairyland,  this  almost  motherly  providence,  is, 
after  all,  but  a  bad  counterfeit  of  the  true  Providence. 
(Here  Vautrin  njipears  in  the  background,  dressed  in  a 
(lark  blue  coat,  a  black  waistcoat,  plain  grai/  trousers  and 
the  usual  attire  of  a  business  man.)  Ah,  I  knew  what 
love  meant,  but  this  is  my  first  thirst  for  revenge!  I 
would  not  like  to  die  before  getting  even  with  those 
two  Montsorels! 

VAUTRIN,  aside. — He  is  in  trouble.  {Aloud.)  Raoul, 
lad,  what  is  the  matter? 

RAOUL. — Nothing  is  the  matter.      Leave  me  in  peace. 

VAUTRIN. — You  repulse  me  again'  You  are  really 
abusing  the  privilege  one  has  of  ill-treating  a  friend. 
Now,  tell  me,  what   were   you   thinking  of,  just   now' 

RAOUL. — Of  nothing. 

VAUTRIN. — Now,  now'     Don't  you  know,  sir,  by  this 


VAUTRIN  87 

time,  that  the  man  who  has  taught  you  how  to  use  a 
fine  British  indifference  to  hide  one's  emotions,  is  not 
ignorant  of  the  weak  point  of  this  cuirass  of  pride? 
Pretend,  as  much  as  you  please,  as  far  as  the  others 
are  concerned,  but  toward  me,  it  would  be  more  than 
a  mistake,  for,  between  friends,  such  mistakes  are 
crimes. 

RAOUL, — So,  not  to  gamble,  not  to  come  home  tipsy, 
to  abandon  the  Opera  menagerie,  to  become  a  thought- 
ful, studious  man,  to  aim  at  some  serious  standing  in 
the  community — you  call  all  this  pretending? 

VAUTRIN. — You  are  still  a  poor  diplomat;  when  you 
are  able  to  deceive  me,  then — and  then  only — you  may 
call  yourself  full-fiedged.  Raoul,  you  have  been  guilty 
of  an  error  against  which  I  warned  you  at  the  start: 
you  ought  to  have  taken  women  for  what  they  are, 
irrational  beings,  made  to  serye  us  and  not  to  be 
served.  Instead  of  that,  you  are  playing  the  part  of  a 
sentimental  shepherd;  my  Lovelace  is  overthrown  by 
a  Clarissa.  Ah,  how  long  are  young  men  to  knock 
upon  these  idols  before  they  discover  how  hollow  they 
are? 

RAOUL. — A  sermon? 

VAUTRIN. — What,  you  are  taking  me  for  a  ridiculous, 
canting  old  fogy!  I,  who  trained  your  hand  to  shoot 
true,  who  taught  you  all  the  fencing  tricks,  who  made 
you  the  equal  of  the  most  agile  of  the  rascals  of  the 
faubourg;  I — who  developed  your  mind  as  well  as 
your  body,  and  who  wanted  to  place  you  far  above  the 
vulgar  herd;  I — who  dreamed  of  anointing  you  the 
king  of  them  all!  I  beg  of  you,  drop  all  this  play- 
acting and  be  frank  with  me. 

RAouL. — You   want  to  know   what   I   was   thinking 


88  VAI'TRIN 

about?  To  confess  it  would  be  to  reproach  my  bene- 
factor. 

VAUTRIN. — Your  benefactor?  You  insult  me.  Have 
I  offered  you  my  blood,  my  life — am  I  ready  to  kill,  to 
murder  any  enemy  of  yours,  to  receive  from  you  this 
cxhorbitant  interest  called  g^ratitiidc?  Do  you  take  me 
for  a  usurer?  There  are  people  who  saddle  a  kindness 
upon  the  heart  of  the  one  they  are  obliging  as  one 
attaches  a  ball  to  a  convict's  ankle.  Such  men  I  would 
no  more  hesitate  to  crush  than  I  would  to  tread  on  a 
lot  of  caterpillars,  and  I'd  never  think  I  was  commit- 
ting murder.  No,  no,  I  begged  you  to  accept  me  as 
your  father;  my  heart  must  be  to  you  what  heaven  is 
to  the  angels — a  place  where  everything  is  happiness 
and  absolute  confidence.  You  can  tell  me  your  very 
inmost  thoughts,  the  best  and  the  worst.  Speak,  I 
understand  everything,  even  cowardice. 

RAOUi,. — God  and  Satan  must  have  combined  their 
powers  to  cast  a  creature  of  such  metal! 

VAUTRIN. — Possibly. 

RAOUL. — I'll  tell  you  everything. 

VAUTRIN. — Then,  let  us  sit  down,  lad. 

RAOUL. — You  are  the  cause  of  my  shame  and  my 
despair. 

VAUTRIN. — P  When?  How?  Blood  and  thunder, 
who  dared  wound  you'  Who  dared  insult  you?  Name 
the  people,  the  place —  The  wrath  of  X'^autrin  will 
pass  over  them  I 

RAOUL. — You  can  do  nothing. 

VAITTRIN. — Lad,  there  arc  two  kinds  of  men  who  can 
do  everything. 

RAOUI,. — And  they  are? 

VAUTRIN. — The    kings,    who   arc,    or    ought    to    be. 


VAUTRIN  89 

above  all  laws,  and— do  not  be  angry — the  great  crim- 
inals who  are  below  the  law. 

RAOUL. — And  as  you  are  not  the  king— 

VAUTRIN. — My  kingdom  is  lower  down. 

RAOUL. — What  horrible  joke  are  you  trying  to  play 
on  me,  Vautrin? 

VAUTRIN. — Did  you  not  say  just  now  that  I  was  the 
handiwork  of  both  God  and  Satan? 

RAOUL. — Ah,  sir,  you  are  freezing  the  blood  in  my 
veins! 

VAUTRIN. — Take  your  seat  and  recover  your  com- 
posure. You  must  be  surprised  at  nothing,  if  you  are 
ever  to  be  a  man  above  the  common  type. 

RAOUL. — Am  I  in  the  hands  of  a  demon  or  an  angel? 
You  teach  me  life  without  deflowering  the  noble  instincts 
I  feel  within  me;  you  enlighten  without  dazzling;  you 
give  me  the  experience  of  old  age  and  do  not  drive 
away  the  graces  of  youth ;  but  it  is  not  with  impunity 
that  you  have  thus  sharpened  my  mind,  widened  my 
horizon,  awakened  my  perspicacity —  You  must  tell 
me  now  where  my  fortune  comes  from.  Is  its  source 
honorable?  Why  do  you  forbid  me  to  relate  the  sad 
incidents  of  my  childhood?  Why  do  you  force  me  to 
bear  the  name  of  the  village  where  we  met?  Why  am 
I  not  allowed  to  try  and  discover  who  my  father  and 
mother  were?  In  a  word,  why  am  I  compelled  to 
stagger  under  this  weight  of  falsehoods?  An  orphan 
may  interest  where  an  impostor  is  despised.  I  am 
surrounded  with  the  luxury  of  a  princely  style  of  living 
and  am  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  source  of  this  wealth ; 
you  give  me  a  splendid  education  and  no  real  stand- 
ing; you  launch  me  into  the  world's  turmoil  and 
people    sneer  to    my  face   that   the    Frescas   race   is 


90  VAUTRIN 

extinct.  They  ask  after  my  family  and  you  seal  my 
lips.  I  am,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  a  great  lord 
and  an  outcast;  I  am  obliged  to  swallow  insults  that 
should  drive  me  to  tear  to  pieces  dukes  and  mar- 
(luesses;  my  soul  is  bursting  with  fury,  1  want  to  fight 
ten,  twenty,  duels,  I  want  to  die!  Do  you  wish  me 
then  to  be  insulted  at  every  moment?  If  not,  keep  no 
more  secrets  from  me,  Infernal  Prometheus,  achieve 
thy  work  or  destroy  it  I 

VAUTRIN. — Ah,  who  could  remain  unmoved  before 
the  generous  outburst  of  this  noble  youth!  How  dash- 
ing his  courage!  How  (juick  and  fiery  his  feelings! 
Indeed,  Raoul,  you  arc  the  offspring  of  noble  ances- 
tors. Well,  then,  lad,  I  am  going  to  give  you  what  I 
call  my  reasons. 

RAOUL. — At  last! 

VAUTRIN. — You  ask  for  your  guardian's  accounts; 
here  they  are. 

RAOUL. — But  have  I  any  right  to  them?  Without 
you,  should  I  be  alive  to-day? 

VAUTRIN. — He  silent.  You  had  nothing,  I  gave  you 
wealth.  You  knew  nothing,  I  gave  you  a  brilliant 
education.  f)h,  but  I  am  not  quits  with  you  yet.  A 
father — all  fathers  bestow  upon  their  children  life;  I 
owe  you  more,  I  owe  you  happiness.  But  is  what  you 
told  me  the  whole  motive  of  your  sadness?  Here,  {/ic 
poin/s  to  a  jeweled  box  on  the  table),  in  this  locked 
receptacle  there  is  a  portrait  and  there  arc  letters 
which  you  are  often  reading  with  deep  sighs,  as  if — 

RAOUL. — Then,  you  have  discovered — ? 

VAUTRIN.  —  I  have.  Arc  you  smitten  so  very  deeply, 
tell  me? 

RAt)UL. — To  the  heart. 


VAUTRIN  91 

VAUTRIN. — Young  fool!  Don't  you  know  that  Love 
feeds  on  deceit  and  FriendvShip  on  trust?  Still,  be 
happy  in  your  own  way. 

KAouL. — But  how  can  I?  Ah,  I  will  enlist  as  a 
private  and  wherever  cannons  roar  I'll  be  found,  and 
soon  conquer  a  glorious  name  or  die! 

VAUTRIN. — That's  nothing  but  child's  talk., 

RAOUL. — You  have  made  yourself  out  as  too  old  to 
understand  such  subjects  and  I  might  as  well  keep 
silent. 

VAUTRIN. — Then  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story.  You 
are  in  love  with  Ines  de  Christoval,  in  her  own  right 
Princess  of  Arjos,  the  daughter  of  a  Spanish  duke 
banished  by  Ferdinand  VII.,  an  Andalusian  girl,  who 
loves  you  and  for  whom  I  have  a  liking  myself,  not  as 
a  woman  but  as  a  money  chest  with  the  loveliest  eyes 
in  the  world ;  a  money  chest  as  graceful  as  a  black 
frigate  with  snow-white  sails,  bringing  us  from 
America  the  impatiently-awaited  galleons  and  pouring 
upon  us  all  that's  worth  living;  just  like  these  fig- 
ures of  Fortune  they  are  always  painting  over  the 
lottery-shops.  I  approve  your  choice;  of  course  it 
will  make  you  do  lots  of  foolish  things,  but  I  am  here 
to  mend  matters. 

RAouL. — Do  not  sully  her  with  your  horrible  sar- 
casm. 

VAUTRIN. — All  right;  I'll  put  a  damper  to  my  wit 
and  place  crepe  on  my  hat. 

RAOUL. — Yes,  you  may  as  well  do  so;  for,  it  will 
never  be  possible  for  the  foster  child  of  an  Alghero 
fisherman  to  become  Prince  of  Arjos — and,  if  I  lose 
Ines,  I  shall  die  ot  a  broken  heart. 

VAUTRIN. — Why  be  so  gloomy  when    you  have  in 


92  VAUTRIN 

prospect  twelve  hundred  thousand  a  year,  tlie  title  of 
Prince,  a  Grandessa  of  Spain  and  lots  of  money  saved? 

KAOUL. — If  you  truly  love  me,  why  these  cruel 
jokes,  when  you  see  me  in  such  despair' 

VAUTRIN.  —  But  about  what  are  you  in  despair]* 

RAoui.. — A  few  moments  ajjfo,  the  Duke  and  the 
Marquis  of  Montsorel  insulted  me  in  their  own  house, 
in  her  presence,  and  my  hopes  vanished  forever. 
Henceforth  admission  to  the  Christoval  mansion  will 
be  refused  me.  I  do  not  yet  know  why  the  Duchess 
of  Montsorel  sent  for  me.  For  the  last  two  days  she 
has  displayed  an  interest  in  me  which  I  fail  to  under- 
stand. 

VAUTRIN. — You  had  no  business  in  your  rival's  house. 

RAOUL. — Then  you  know  everything! 

VAUTRIN. — And  a  great  deal  besides.  To  conclude: 
you  are  bound  to  have  Ines  de  Christoval?  All  right, 
she  shall  be  your's. 

RAOUL. — You  are  not  making  game  of  me? 

VAUTRIN. — Raoul,  to-day  the  gates  of  the  Christoval 
mansion  arc  closed  against  you ;  to-morrow  you  shall 
be  the  accepted  suitor  of  the  Princess  of  Arjos;  and 
the  Montsorels  will  be  out  in  the  cold,  Montsorels 
though  they  be. 

RAOUI.. — My  grief  is  driving  you  insane. 

VAUTRIN. — What  right  have  I  ever  given  you  to 
doubt  my  word?  Who  gave  you  an  Arabian  horse  such 
as  no  dandy  in  the  Bois  ever  owned?  Who  pays  your 
gambling  debts?  Who  watches  over  your  pleasures? 
To  begin  with,  who  gave  shoes  to  the  wandering  bare- 
foot lad ' 

RAOUL. — You,  you,  my  friend,  my  father,  my  whole 
family! 


VAUTRIN  93 

VAUTRIN. — That's  better,  that's  better!  When  you 
speak  that  way,  you  pay  me  back  in  full  for  all  my 
sacrifices.  But,  alas!  once  rich,  once  a  Grandee  of 
Spain,  once  belonging  for  good  to  the  exclusive  set, 
you'll  forget  me.  With  a  change  of  air  will  come  a 
change  of  ideas.  You'll  despise  me  and  you'll  be 
right. 

RAOUL. — Are  you  one  of  the  genii  out  of  the  "Thou- 
sand and  One  Nights"?  I  sometimes  ask  myself  if  I  am 
really  alive.  But,  my  friend,  my  protector,  I  must 
have  a  family! 

VAUTRIN. — A  family!  Why,  I  am  having  one  made 
out  of  whole  cloth  for  you  with  more  portraits  of 
ancestors  than  the  Louvre  Museum  could  contain. 

RAOUL. — You  reawaken  all  my  hopes, 

VAUTRIN. — You  are  sure,  then,  that  you  want  Ines? 

RAOUL. — I  want  her  b}^  all  means  possible  and  impos- 
sible. 

VAUTRIN. — You'll  be  frightened  at  nothing?  Not 
even  at  black  magic  or  hell  itself? 

RAOUL. — Let  it  be  hell,  if  it  only  secures  me  para- 
dise. 

VAUTRIN. — Hell!  It  is  the  world  of  penitentiaries 
and  convicts  branded  and  handcuffed,  led  to  their  fate 
by  wretched  poverty  and  unable  to  ever  get  out  of  it! 
Paradise!  it  is  life  in  a  luxurious  mansion,  the  society 
of  beautiful  women — it  is  honors  and  titles.  On  this 
earth,  there  are  two  spheres :  I  raise  you  to  the  loftier 
and  lovelier;  I  remain  in  the  lower  and  uglier.  If 
only  you  do  not  forget  me,  we  are  quits. 

RAOUL, — You  give  me  a  shudder  after  filling  me 
with  delight. 

VAUTRIN,  paftiiu/  him  on  the  shoulder. — You  are  still 


94  \AUTRIX 

but  a  boy  yet.  (Aside.)  Have  I  not  told  him  too 
much?     [lie ptd/s  the  bell-rope.) 

RAOUL,  aside. — At  times  my  whole  nature  seems  to 
revolt  against  his  acts  of  j^enerosity.  When  his  hand 
touches  my  shoulder,  T  have  a  sensation  as  of  a  hot 
iron,  and  yet,  he  never  did  me  anything  but  good. 
He  only  hides  from  me  how  he  manages  it  all.  The 
results  are  all  for  me. 

VAUTRIN. — What  are  you  saying  to  yourself? 

RAOUL, — I  was  saying  that  I  can  receive  nothing 
more  from  you  unless  I  feci  sure  that  my  honor — 

VAUTRIN. — Your  honor!  It  will  be  taken  care  of, 
don't  you  worry.  Have  I  not  myself  fostered  the 
sentiment  within  you?     Has  it  ever  been  compromised? 

RAOUL. — Then  you  will  explain  to  me — 

VAUTRIN. — I  will  exjilain  nothing  more. 

RAOUL. — Nothing? 

VAUTKIN. — Did  you  not  say  just  now,  "by  all  means 
])ossible  and  impossible?"  When  Ines  is  yours  what 
do  you  care  how  I  managed  it  or  wlio  I  am?  You'll 
take  Ines  away  with  you,  you'll  travel  about;  the 
Christoval  family  will  protect  the  Prince  of  Arjos.  {To 
Lafourail/e,  who  has  ansirered  the  heJl.)  Put  lots  of 
champagne  on  ice.  Your  master  is  about  to  marry! 
To-day  he  is  to  say  good-by  to  his  bachelor  life;  his 
friends  are  invited,  fetch  his  sweethearts  if  he  has  any 
left!  There's  going  to  be  a  royal  good  time  for  every- 
body in  this  house  I  Let  everything  be  on  a  grand 
scale  and  in  the  best  style! 

RAOUL,  aside.  —  His  intrepidity  frightens  me,  but 
then,  he  is  always  right! 

VAUTRIN. — To  the  dining-room! 

RAOUL. — To  the  dininir-room. 


VAUTRIN  95 

VAUTRiN. — Don't  put  a  gloomy  look  upon  your  hap- 
piness, lad  I  Enjoy  your  last  spell  of  freedom !  Come 
along —  All  the  wines  but  one  are  Spanish-grown — 
Isn't  this  considerate  of  me! 

(Curtain  on  Third  Act.) 


FOURTH    ACT 

(-4  dnticiug  room  in  Ihe  L'lirisloful  imnision  ) 

SCENE   T 

The  Duchess  of  Christo\  al.     Inks. 

iNES. — If  Monsieur  de  Frescas  is  of  obscure  birth, 
mamma,  I  shall  give  him  up,  but,  on  your  side,  do  me 
the  kindness  of  not  insisting  upon  my  marrying  the 
Marquis  of  Montsorel. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. If     I  OppOSC    UU    iusaUC 

match  it  certainly  is  not  for  the  purpose  of  favoring 
the  pretensions  of  an  ambitious  family. 

iNES. — An  insane  match!  Who  knowsi'  You  believe 
him  an  adventurer,  I  think  him  a  gentleman,  and  we 
have  no  evidence  either  way. 

ruE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Proofs  wiU  not  be  long 
f(jrthcoming;  the  Montsorels  are  too  deeply  interested 
in  i^roving  him  worthless. 

INES. — And  he  loves  me  too  deeply  not  to  be  in  haste 
to  prove  himself  worthy.  Was  not  his  conduct,  yester- 
day morning,  that  of  a  man  of  the  higliest  breeding? 

THE  DUCHESS  uF  i.H Ris lov AL. — My  dear,  foolish  child, 
is  not  your  happiness  my  own?  Only  let  Raoul  fur- 
nish the  world  satisfactory  evidence  of  the  reality  of 
his  claims,  and  I  am  ready  in  your  cause  to  fight  not 
only  the  Montsorels,  but  the  Court  of  Spain,  itself. 

9b 


VAUTRIN  97 

INES. — Ah,  dear  mother!  then  you  love  him,  too? 
THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisTOVAL. — Is  he  not  your  choice? 


SCENE   II 

The  Preceding.     A  Footman.      Later  Vautrin, 

{The  footman  hands  to  the  Duchess  a  card  in  a  sealed 
envelope. ) 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL,  reading  aloud. — "General 
Crustamente,  Secret  Envoy  of  H.  M.  Don  Agustin  I., 
Emperor  of  Mexico. "     What  does  this  mean? 

INES. — From  Mexico?  Why,  he  is  bringing  news 
from  my  father! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL,  to  the  footman. — Intro- 
duce the  gentleman. 

(  Vautrin  umlks  in,  dressed  in  the  brilliant.,  gaudy  uni- 
form of  a  Mexican  general  of  those  days.  He  seems  four 
indies  taller  in  his  blue  coat,  covered  with  gold  embroidery ; 
he  wears  tvhite  trousers  with  a  pink-colored  sash,  and  in 
his  hand  he  carries  a  big  hat  ivith  jvhite  feathers.  His 
complexion  is  almost  coypcr  in  hue,  and  his  accent  is  much 
like  that  of  the  Creoles  fro))i  the  French  colonies  in  the  West 
Indies.) 

VAUTRIN. — Have  I  the  honor  to  speak  to  the  Duchess 
of  Christoval? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOV.A.L. YeS,   sir. 

VAUTRIN. — And  the  young  lady? 
THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Is  my  daughter,  sir? 
VAUTRIN. — Mademoiselle,  then,   is  the  Senora  Ines, 
in  her  own  right  Princess  of  Arjos.     At  sight  of  her 


98  VAUTRIN 

the  adoration  of  Monsieur  de  Christoval  for  his 
daughter  is  at  once  understood.  Ladies,  before  I  say 
a  word  more,  I  must  request  absolute  discretion.  My 
mission  is  difficult  enough  already;  should  any  one 
suspect  a  meeting  between  us,  we  should  be  all  deeply 
compromised. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — I  promisc  unrcscrvedly 
to  keep  your  name  and  your  visit  to  us  a  secret. 

INES. — As  your  visit  concerns  my  father,  sir,  will  you 
allow  me  to  remain? 

VAUTRIN. — The  word  of  Spanish  gentlewomen  is  all 
sufficient. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — I  will  aslc  my  Servants 
to  be  silent. 

VAUTRIN. — Please,  madam,  do  no  such  thing;  to  ask 
for  silence  from  such  people  is  often  to  start  gossip.  I 
pledged  myself  to  bring  you  news  from  Monsieur  de 
Christoval,  as  soon  as  I  should  reach  Paris,  and  this  is 
my  first  visit. 

iiiK  DUCHESS  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — Oh,  plcasc,  General, 
tell  us  at  once  all  you  know  about  my  husband — 
Where  is  he  now? 

VAUTRIN. — Mexico  has  become,  at  last,  what  it  was 
bound  to  be  some  day  or  other — a  realm  freed  from 
Spain.  To-day,  there  are  no  more  Spaniards  there, 
every  one  is  Mexican. 

THE    DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — So  SOOU? 

VAUTRIN. — Yes,  it  does  seem  rapid  work,  when  one 
pays  no  attention  to  the  causes  that  led  to  the  trans- 
formation. You  see,  Mexico  was  athirst  for  independ- 
ence; it  has  begun  by  giving  itself  an  Emperor  of  its 
own!  That  may  seem  surprising,  though  nothing  is 
more  natural.     Principles  can  wait,  mLii  are  impatient. 


VAUTRIN  99 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisTovAL. — What  happened  to 
Monsieur  de  Christoval? 

VAUTRIN. — Be  relieved,  Madame;  he  is  not  Emperor. 
On  the  contrary,  his  obstinate  resistance  ahnost  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  Mexico  imder  the  rule  of  Ferdinand 
VII. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL, — But  my  husband  is  not 
a  soldier? 

VAUTRIN. — Of  course  not,  but  he  is  a  clever  diplomat, 
and  if  he  had  succeeded  in  his  plans,  he  would  have 
returned  to  Spain  in  high  favor  and  the  King  could 
have  done  no  less  than  to  appoint  him  Viceroy. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — In  what  a  strange  cen- 
tury are  we  living ! 

VAUTRIN. — Revolutions  follow  each  other,  but  do  not 
resemble  each  other  except  that  all  spring  from  the 
French  upheaval.  But  ought  we  not  to  stop  talking 
politics,  Madame?  It  is  such  a  dangerous  ground  to 
tread. 

INES. — General,  did  my  father  receive  our  letters? 

VAUTRIN. — In  the  troubled  days  when  crowns  are 
lost,  letters  may  go  astray. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — And  what  has  become 
of  Monsieur  de  Christoval? 

VAUTRIN. — Old  Amoagos,  who  wields  an  immense 
influence  over  there,  rescued  your  husband  in  the  nick 
of  time,  just  as  I  was  about  to  have  him  shot! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL  (UUl  INES. Shot ! 

VAUTRIN, — Yes,  that's  how  we  got  acquainted. 
THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — You,  General? 
INES. — My  father,  sir? 

VAUTRIN. — Well,  you  see,  ladies,  it  was  this  way:  I 
had  to  choose  between  being  hanged  by  him,   as  a 


loo  VAUTRIN 

rebel,  or  coming  out  as  one  of  the  heroes  of  a  freed 
nation,  and  here  I  ami  By  arriving  suddenly  on  the 
spot,  at  the  head  of  his  miners,  Amoagos  settled  the 
question.  The  safety  of  his  friend,  the  Duke  of  Chris- 
toval,  was  one  of  the  conditions  of  his  assistance. 
Between  us,  Emperor  Iturbide,  my  master,  bears  but 
an  empty  title;  the  real  future  of  Mexico  is  in  the 
hands  of  old  Amoagos. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  cHRisTovAL. — And  who  is  this 
Amoagos  who,  you  affirm,  is  to  be  the  arbiter  of  the 
destinies  of  the  new  commonwealth? 

VAUTRIN. — Is  it  possible  that  you  never  heard  of 
him?  I  wonder  what  new  tie  will  be  necessary  to 
make  the  new  world  known  to  the  old  I  Here  is  a 
man  with  the  richest  of  gold  mines,  with  such  well- 
sounding  names  as  Don  Inigo  Juan  Varaco  Cardaval  de 
los  Amoagos,  las  Frescas  y  Peral — and  you  never 
heard  of  him !  Of  course  he  uses  only  one  name  as  we 
all  do  over  there ;  thus  I  am  known  as  Crustamente, 
for  short. — So,  there  lives  the  future  president  of  the 
Mexican  republic,  and  France  does  not  even  suspect 
Ills  existence!  Ladies,  the  old  Amoagos  welcomed 
your  husband  on  his  arrival  over  there  as  an  old 
nobleman  from  Aragon  was  bound  to  welcome  a  Span- 
ish Grandee  banished  for  having  been  seduced  from 
his  king  by  the  great  fame  of  Napoleon. 

i.VEs. — Did  you  not  mention  Frescas  as  among  his 
names? 

VAUTRIN. — Yes,  Frescas  is  the  name  he  gave  to  his 
second  mine.  I  shall  have  the  honcjr  now  to  bring  to 
your  knowledge  all  the  obligations  your  father  is  under 
toward  Don  Cardaval.  I  have,  in  my  portfolio,  letters 
from  the    Duke  for  his   wife  and  daughter.      My  valet 


VAUTRIN  loi 

has  this  portfolio  in  eharge;  allow  me  to  have  him 
bring  it  here.  {The  Duchess  signs  to  Ines  to  pull  the 
bell.)  {Vautrin  to  himself.)  How  kindly  they  take  to 
my  old  Ainoag-os !  (Aloud.)  May  I  ask  you,  Madame,  to 
grant  me  a  few  moments  of  private  interview?  {Enter  a 
footman.)  Tell  my  negro  servant —  But  he  under- 
stands only  his  awful  lingo —  You'll  have  to  bring 
him  here. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  cHRisTOVAL,  to  hpT  dcinghtef. — My 
dear  child,  you  will  have  to  leave  us  alone  for  a  few 
minutes. 

VAUTRIN,  to  Lafouraille  who  enters  the  room  made  up  as  a 
negro  and  carrying  a  huge  jjortfolio.  —  Ji  ji,  joro, 
flouri. 

LAFOURAILLE. — JorO. 

INES,  to  Vautrin. — General,  the  confidence  my  father 
placed  in  you  assured  you  an  excellent  welcome,  but 
your  promptness  in  relieving  our  anxieties  deserves 
my  warmest  gratitude. 

VAUTRIN. — Gratitude!  Why,  Senora,  if  there  were  a 
balance  to  be  struck,  I  should  be  greatly  in  debt  to 
your  illustrious  father  for  the  pleasure  he  has  granted 
me  in  beholding  you. 

LAFOURAILLE. lo. 

VAUTRIN, — Caracas,  y  mouli  joro,  fistas,  ip  souri. 

LAFOURAILLE.^Souri,   JOTO. 

VAUTRIN,  distributing  letters. — Ladies,  here  are  your 
letters.  {Aside  to  Lafouraille.)  Now,  you  go  back  and 
walk  about  leisurely  between  the  hall  and  the  court; 
Mouth  closed,  hands  at  rest,  but  the  eyes  restless — 
and  a  nose  for  every  smell ! 

LAFOURAILLE. — Ya,  mciu  herr. 

VAUTRIN,  furious. — Souri  joro,  fistas. 


I02  VAUTRIN 

LAFoURAiLLK. — Joro.  (^/ a  (I  liiw  t'oicc.)  —  Here  are  the 
Langeac  papers.      {Hxit  Lafouraillc.) 

VAUTRIN,  to  the  ladies  who  arc  bi'sij  opening  tJteir  Ivt- 
ters. — I  am  against  the  emancipation  of  the  negroes; 
the  day  it  happens  we'll  have  to  get  some  whites  to 
take  their  place. 

INKS,  to  her  uiolhrr. — Will  yon  excuse  me,  mamma,  if 
I  retire  to  my  room  to  read  my  father's  letter?  Gen- 
eral—     {She  bows  to  him.) 

VAUTRIN. — She  is  charming;  may  she  be  happy! 

{Exit  lues  followed  to  the  door  Inj  her  mother.) 


SCENE    Til 

Thk  Duchess  ok  Chrisi oval.     Vautrin, 

VAUTRIN,  ^^s■/(^'.  —  If  Mexico  saw  itself  represented  as 
I  am  representing  it  now,  it  would  sentence  me  to  an 
embassy  for  life.  {Aloud.)  Kindly  pardon  my  ab.'^ent- 
mindedness,  Madame,  I  have  so  many  things  to  think 
about. 

xnt  DUCHESS  OK  cHRibTovAL. — Diplomats  ought  to 
be  allowed  these  short  moments  of  abstraction. 

VAUiRiN.  —  Professional  diplomats,  yes;  but  I  pre- 
fer to  remain  a  blunt  old  soldier.  My  ambition  is  to 
succeed  by  telling  the  truth.  Ah,  now  that  we  are 
alone  we  must  talk  about  the  delicate  mission  intrusted 
to  me. 

THK  du<:hi:ss  of  christcjval.  —  Have  you  any  news 
my  daughter  ought  not  to  be  told? 

vautrin. — Perhaps;  but  I  will  go  straight  to  the 
point.     The  Senora  is  young,  handsome,  and  of  noble 


VAUTRIN  103 

birth;  she  has  doubtless  four  suitors  to  her  hand  to 
any  other  girl's  one.  Now  her  father  wants  to  know, 
through  mc,  whether  or  not  she  has  distinguished  any 
of  her  admirers  by  bestowing  her  affection  upon  him. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisi  OVAL. — To  your  frank  question 
I  will  answer  frankly.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  give  you 
the  desired  information. 

VAUTRIN. — Ah!  Take  care,  Madame;  diplomats 
always  give  silence  the  worst  interpretation. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  cHRisTOVAL. — Sir,  ycu  foTgct  that 
we  are  talking  of  my  daughter. 

VAUTRIN. — I  am  to  understand  then  that  she  loves  no 
one.  She  is  free,  therefore,  to  obey  her  father's 
wishes. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — What!  Mousieur  de 
Christoval  could  not  have  settled  his  daughter's 
future? 

VAUTRIN. — You  see,  your  anxiety  betrays  you. 
Mademoiselle  Ines  must  have  made  her  choice.  Ah, 
now,  I  am  almost  as  afraid  to  ask  you  my  question  as 
you  were  to  answer  mine.  Should,  however,  this  pre- 
ferred one  be  a  young  foreigner — wealthy  but  of 
unknown  family  and  who  even  keeps  his  native 
country  a  myster)%  then — 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — This  name  of  Frescas 
just  mentioned  by  you  is  the  one  assumed  by  a  gentle- 
man who  is  a  suitor  to  Ines's  hand. 

VAUTRIN. — Is  he  also  called  Raoul? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Yes,  Raoul  dc  Frcscas. 

VAUTRIN. — A  bright,  witty,  distinguished-looking 
young  man? 

THE  DucHF.ss  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Ycs,  he  is  endowcd 
with  all  those  inborn  qualities. 


104  VAUTRIN 

VAUTRiN. — The  young  man  is  so  romantically  inclined 
Ihat  he  has  sworn  lo  be  loved  for  himself  alone,  in 
spite  of  his  immense  fortune.  He  is  hunting  for  this 
will-o'-the-wisp,  love  in  marriage!  The  young  Amo- 
agos,  Madame,  for  he  it  is — 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRiSTOVAL. — But  this  name  of  Raoul 
is  not — 

VAUTRIN. — Spanish  or  Mexican;  you  are  right, 
Madame.  It  was  given  him  by  his  mother,  a  French 
refugee  from  Haiti.  And  is  the  rash  fellow  truly 
loved? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Ycs,  preferred  above 
all  others. 

VAUTRIN. — Then  read  these  letters,  madame;  you 
will  find  that  they  give  you  and  me  full  powers  to  con- 
clude this  marriage. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — Ah,  sir,  allow  me  to 
call  back  my  daughter.     {Exit  the  Duchess.) 


SCENE    IV 

VAUTRIN,  alone. — The  majordomo  has  been  secured; 
no  letters  will  reach  the  ladies  before  passing  through 
my  hands.  Raoul  is  too  proud  to  come  to  this  house, 
the  entree  to  which  has  been  refused  him;  besides,  he 
promised  to  wait  for  me.  vSo  I  am  master  of  the  field, 
for  a  while,  at  least — long  enough  to  transform  Raoul 
into  a  real  prince;  after  that,  he  will  have  no  trouble 
gathering  ancestors.  Mexico  and  I  will  furnish  the 
needed  supply. 


VAUTRIN  105 


SCENE     V 


The  Duchess  of  Christoval.      Ines.     Vautrin. 

THE  duchess  of  CHRISTOVAL. — My  dear  child,  you 
must  address  your  thanks  to  General  Crustamente. 
(She  resumes  the  reading  of  the  letter  in  her  hand.) 

iNES. — Thanks,  sir!  Why,  my  father  tells  me  in  this 
letter,  that  among  the  numerous  diplomatic  missions 
that  bring  you  to  this  side  of  the  ocean,  you  have  that 
of  marrying  me  to  a  Senor  Amoagos,  without  taking 
any  account  of  my  inclinations. 

VAUTRIN. — You  need  feel  no  apprehension.  Made- 
moiselle.    He  is  known  here  as  Raoul  de  Frescas. 

iNES. — He,  Raoul  de  Frescas!  Then,  why  this 
obstinate  silence? 

VAUTRIN. — Is  it  the  part  of  an  old  soldier  to  elucidate 
the  mysteries  of  a  young  man's  heart?  Doubtless, 
Raoul  wanted  to  gain  you  through  love,  not  through  a 
feeling  of  filial  obedience. 

INES. — Ah,  General,  I  shall  have  to  punish  him  for 
his  modesty  and  his  lack  of  faith!  Why,  yesterday, 
he  chose  to  devour  an  insult  rather  than  to  declare  his 
father's  name! 

VAUTRIN. — Remember,  Mademoiselle,  that  he  does 
not  know  even  now  whether  his  father's  name  is  that 
of  a  traitor  to  his  country  or  that  of  one  of  America's 
great  patriots, 

INES. — O  mother!     Do  you  hear  this? 

VAUTRIN,  aside. — How  fond  she  is  of  him!  These 
poor  girls,  they  only  want  to  be  fooled ! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL.— The  letter  now  in  my 


io^>  VAUTKIX 

hands  says  that  you  have  been  j^iven  full  power  to  act 
in  the  matter. 

VAUTRIN.— I  have  the  official  deeds  and  family  docu- 
ments in  my  possession. 

A  FooT.MAN,  cJitifi iKj. — Is  Madame  la  Duchesse  at 
home  to  Monsieur  de  Frescas? 

VAUTRIN,  aside.— WhixV.     Raoul  here! 

THE  duchp:ss  of  christovai..— You  may  introduce 
him. 

\  AUTKiN,  aside. — It  looks  as  if  the  patient  were  to 
kill  his  physician. 

I  HE  DUCHESS  OK  CHRiSTOVAt,. — Heuccforth,  Ines,  you 
may  receive  Monsieur  de  Frescas  alone ;  your  father 
has  accepted  his  suit.  {Incs  ceremoniotishj  Jcissci< 
her  Diother^s  hand.) 


SCENE    VI 

The   Preceding.     Raoul.      He  bows  to   the  Imo  l(u(iei< 
from  the  door. 

VAUTRIN,  meeiiiuj  Jiaoul  half  xvay  uji  the  sUvje. — Don 
Raoul  de  Cardaval. 

raoul. — Vautrin! 

VAUiRiN. — No,  General  Crustamente. 

raoul  — Crustamente  I 

VAUTRIN  — That's  it.  Mexican  ambassador.  Re- 
member you  father's  name:  Amoagos,  a  nobleman 
from  Aragon,  a  friend  of  the  Duke  of  Christovai. 
Your  mother  is  dead,  I  have  all  the  family  papers  in 
]ierfect  order  and  authentic.     Ines  is  yours. 

RAOUL. — And  you  want  me  to  agree  to  such  infamous 
doings!     Never  I 


VAUTRIN  107 

VAUTRiN,  to  the  tiuo  ladies. — He  is  bewildered  by  what 
I  just  told  him ;  he  never  dreamed  of  so  rapid  a  denoue- 
ment. 

RAOUL,  to  Vautrin. — If  truth  is  to  kill  me,  bptter 
death  than  dishonor  through  such  deceit! 

VAUTRIN. — You  said  you  wanted  Ines  by  all  means, 
fair  or  unfair,  and  you  shrink  before  the  most  inno- 
cent of  subterfuges! 

RAOUL,  beside  himself. — Ladies — 

VAUTRIN. — Joy  is  almost  too  much  for  him!  {Aside 
to  Raoul.)  Speak,  and  you  not  only  lose  Ines  but  you 
deliver  me  to  the  hands  of  the  police.  Do  as  you 
please,  my  life  is  yours. 

RAOUL. — Ah,  Vautrin!  Into  what  an  abyss  have 
3'ou  plunged  me ! 

VAUTRIN. — I  have  made  you  a  prince.  And  now  do 
not  forget  that  you  have  reached  the  summit  of  human 
bliss!  {Aside.)  He'll  give  in  all  right!  {Exit 
Vautrin.) 


SCENE    VII 

Ines,  near  the  door  to  irhich  she  has  led  her  mother. 
Raoul,  on  the  other  side. 

RAOUL,  aside. — Honor  urges  me  to  speak;  gratitude 
commands  me  to  be  silent!  Well  then  I  shall  play  the 
part  of  the  happy  man  until  Vautrin  is  safe!  But, 
to-night,  I  will  write  to  Ines  and  tell  her  boldly  who 
I  am.  Vautrin,  such  a  sacrifice  makes  us  quits;  our 
bonds  are  severed!  I  will  go  and  seek  somewhere  the 
death  of  a  soldier! 

INES,    irith   her  eyes   intently   iqm7i   him,  as  she   walks 


108  VAUTRIN 

loirnrtl  him. — My  father  and  yours  arc  friends,  Raoxil; 
they  give  their  consent  to  our  marriage ;  we  love  each 
other  as  if  they  were  opposing  it — and  here  you  stand 
in  a  dream,  almost  sad  I 

RAOUL. — You  have  still  your  reason,  and  I  have  lost 
mine!  You  think  all  obstacles  have  vanished,  I  feel 
that  insuperable  ones  are  yet  before  us. 

ixES. — O  Raoul !  Why  throw  such  dark  forebodings 
over  our  happinesii? 

RAOUL. — Our  happiness!  {Aside.)  lam  a  poor  one 
at  dissembling  I  {Aloud.)  In  the  name  of  our  love,  I 
beg  of  you  to  trust  my  loyalty! 

INKS. — Ah,  my  confidence  in  you  is  boundless!  Has 
not  the  General  explained  everything,  even  your 
silence  at  the  Montsorels'?  So,  I  have  pardoned  you 
these  little  sorrows  you  were  forced  to  inflict  upon  me. 

RAOUL,  aside. — Ah,  Vautrin,  I  give  way  to  your 
indomitable  will!  {Aloud.)  Ines,  you  do  not  know 
the  power  of  the  words  you  just  uttered;  they  make 
me  strong  enough  to  stand  the  ecstacy  that  you  bring 
to  me —     Ah,  yes,  let  us  be  happy,  happy! 


SCENE    VIII 

The  pRF.cKDi.NG.      The   Marquis  ok  Montsorel. 

A  FOoT.MAN,  announcing. — Monsieur  le  Marquis  de 
Montsorel. 

RAOUL,  a^ide. — Ah,  this  name  brings  me  back  to  the 
reality  of  things!  {To  Ines.)  Whatever  takes  place, 
Ines,  I  beg  of  you  to  reserve  your  judgment  of  me 
until    I   have  had   a    chance    to  explain    everything; 


VAUTRIN  109 

believe  me,  at  present,  I  am  obeying  an  insuperable 
power. 

INKS. — Raoul,  I  understand  you  less  and  less,  but  I 
trust  you  implicitly.  ' 

THE  MARQUIS,  ai<ide. — That  fellow  again!  {Aloud, 
while  boioitig  to  ])ies.)  Mademoiselle,  I  thought  to  find 
your  mother  with  you  here,  and  I  was  far  from  suppos- 
ing that  my  visit  might  be  inopportune.  I  hope  you 
will  pardon  my  intrusion. 

iNES. — I  wish  you  to  stay,  sir.  There  is  no  stranger 
in  this  room  now,  for  Monsieur  Raoul  de  Frescas  has 
been  accepted  by  my  family. 

THE  MARQUIS. — I  hope  Mousicur  Raoul  de  Frescas 
will  allow  me  to  congratulate  him. 

RAOUL. — I  accept  your  congratulations  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  they  arc  offered  me.  {lie  extends  his 
hand  to  the  Marquis  icho  shakes  it.) 

THE  MARQUIS. — We  Understand  each  other  perfectly. 

INKS,  aside  to  Rao7d. — Manage  it  so  that  he  will  go, 
but  remain  here  yourself.  {To  the  Marquis.)  My 
mother  needs  me  for  a  few  minutes;  I  expect  to  bring 
her  back  with  me. 


SCENE    IX 

The  Marquis.      Raoul.      Later  Vautrin. 

THE  marquis. — Do  you  agree  to  a  duel  to  a  finish 
and  without  seconds? 

raoul. — Without  seconds? 

THE  MARQUIS. — Ycs ;  dou't  you  know  that  there  is 
one  of  us  too  many  in  this  world? 


f'O  VAUTRIN 

R.Nori,.— Your  family  is  powerful;  should  I  1)C  the 
victor,  this  proposal  of  yours  would  make  me  an  easy 
victim  of  your  people's  rcvcn;^^eful  spirit.  I  hardlv 
care  to  exchange  the  hospitality  of  the  Christoval  man- 
sion for  a  prison  cell.  (  Vaufrin  appears  at  the  tiacfc  of 
the  star/r  and  lisfenx.)  Let  it  be  to  the  death,  but  in  the 
presence  of  seconds. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Will  not  vour  seconds  stop  the  fight 
at  the  first  wound? 

RAOLT,. — Our  mutual  hatred  is  the  guarantee  that 
they  will  not. 

V  AUTKiN,  (fside. — What !  Are  we  always  to  be  tripped 
at  the  minute  of  success?  To  the  death,  the  lad  says- 
Why,  is  his  life  his  own  that  he  dare  risk  it  so  reck- 
lessl)'? 

THE  MARQUIS. — Then,  sir,  let  it  be  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  eight  o'clock.  We'll  meet  on  the  Saint-Cxermain 
terrace,  and  from  there,  drive  to  the  forest. 

VAUTRiN,  stepping  forirnnt. — It  .shall  not  be.  {7'ii 
Raoul.)  A  duel!  Why  the  stakes  are  not  even  !  This 
gentleman  here  is  not  the  last  of  an  ancient  race! 
Never  would  your  father,  Don  Inigo  Juan  Varago  de 
los  Amoagos  de  Cardaval  las  Frescas  y  Peral  permit 
such  a  meeting! 

THE  .MAk(juis. — I  was  ready  to  light  an  unknown, 
l)ut  the  noble  house  Monsieur  descends  from  is  a  still 
greater  inducement. 

KAoui.. — Anyhow,  it  will  allow  us,  sir,  to  treat  each 
other  with  full  courtesy,  and,  like  people  who  have 
enough  esteem  for  each  other  to  hate  and  kill. 

THE  MARQUIS,  tookiny  at  Vmifri/i. — May  I  know  the 
name  of  your  mentor? 

VAUiKiN  — To  whom  sh.ill  I  give  my  answer? 


VAUTRIN  III 

THE  MARQUIS. — To  the  Manjui's  de  Montsorel,  sir. 

VAUTRIN,  measuring  him  wiih  hix  eye. — I  have  the 
right  to  keep  silent;  but  I  will  tell  you  my  name. 
Only  once,  though,  and  you'll  never  repeat  it.  J  will 
he  one  of  the  seconds  of  Monsieur  de  Frcscas.  (Aside.) 
And  Biiteux  will  be  the  other. 


SCENE    X 

Raoul.     Vautrin.     The   Marquis.      The  Duchess  of 

Montsorel.      Later  The  Duchess  of 

Christoval  and  Ines. 

the  footman,  an)i07tnci?tf/. — Madame  la  Duchesse  de 
Montsorel. 

VAUTRIN,  lo  Raoul. — ^Mind,  no  childish  act,  now: 
keep  your  wits  and  your  head;  we  are  facing  the 
enemy. 

the  marquis,  fo  Jiis  mother.- — Ah  !  Madame,  have  you 
come  to  be  a  witness  to  my  defeat?  Everything  is 
settled.  The  Christoval  family  was  trifling  with  us. 
This  gentleman,  here  (jwinting  to  Vautrin)  has  won 
the  consents  of  both  fathers. 

the  duchess  of  montsorel,  aside. — Raoul  has  a  fam- 
ily! {Tlie  Duchess  of  Christoval  enters  the  room  with  her 
daughter:  the  ladies  salute  each  other.)  Madame,  my 
son  has  just  informed  me  of  the  unexpected  incident 
which  shatters  all  our  hopes. 

the  duchess  of  christoval. — Then  the  interest  you 
so  kindly  manifested  in  Monsieur  de  Frescas  has  van- 
ished since  yesterday? 

the    duchess   of    montsorel,    exami7iing     Vautrin. — 


112  VAUTRIX 

And  is  it  to  Monsieur  that  the  thanks  for  the  removal 
of  your  previous  doubts  are  due?     Who  is  he? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisTovAL. — Hc  rcprescnts  the 
father  of  Monsieur  de  Frescas,  Don  Amoagos,  as  well 
as  Monsieur  de  Christoval.  He  brought  the  news  we 
were  expecting  and  several  letters  from  my  husband. 

VAUTkiN,  Kside. — Am  I  going  to  be  stared  at  mucli 
longer  by  these  people? 

THE  DUCHKSS  OF  MONTSORF.L. — No  doubt,  Monsieur 
has  known  for  many  years  the  family  of  Monsieur  de 
Frescas? 

VAUTRIN. — The  family  has  dwindled  to  very  few — 
his  father,  an  uncle —  (7o  Ruuiil.)  You  have  not 
even  the  sad  consolation  of  remembering  your  mother. 
(To  the  Ducliesii.)  She  died  in  Mexico,  shortly  after 
her  son's  birth. 

THK  DUCHESS  OF  .MONTSORF.L. — Thcu,  Mousieur  de 
Frescas  was  born  in  Mexico? 

VAUTRIN. — He  was;  in  the  heart  of  Mexico. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSoRF.i.,  (iside  to  till'  Jhichess  of 
f'ltristoval. — My  dear,  we  are  all  being  deceived. 
(Aloud  to  Raoiil.)  Monsieur,  you  do  not  come  from 
Mexico;  }our  mother  is  not  dead;  as  a  child,  you  were 
a  poor,  forsaken  waif —     Is  not  this  all  true? 

RAOui,. — My  mother  alive? 

VAUTRIN. — Excuse  me,  Madame,  but  I  am  here  to 
answer  questions,  and  if  there  are  any  secrets  you  are 
very  anxious  to  know,  I  make  bold  to  say  that  you  can 
obtain  them  from  me  quicker  than  from  Monsieur. 
(Aside  to  Raoul.)     Not  a  word. 

THE     DUCHESS    of     MONTSOREL. It    is     hc 1     kuOW    it! 

And  this  man  is  using  him  as  the  stake  in  some  dread- 
ful enterprise.      (Site  steps  to  the   Marquis.)      My  son — 


VAUTRIN  113 

THE  MARQUIS. — See  how  you  itpsct  them,  Madame. 
We  evidently  have  the  same  opinion  of  this  man.  {He 
moves  Jiis  head  slightly  toioard  Vautrin.)  But  only  a 
woman  can  say  the  words  that  will  expose  this^  hor- 
rible conspiracy. 

THE  DUCHKss  OF  MONTSoRKL. — Horriblc  indeed!  But 
it  is  better  that  you  should  go. 

THE  MARQUIS. — Ladics,  in  spite  of  all  that  now 
stands  against  me,  I  hope  you  will  not  begrudge  me  a 
last  hope.  {To  Vautrin.)  Between  the  cup  and  the 
lip, — there  often — is  place  enough — 

VAUTRIN. — For  death.  {The  Marquis  and  Raoul  bow 
ceremoniously  to  each  other.     Exit  the  Marquis.) 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  to  the  Dtichess  of  Chris- 
foval. — Dear  Duchess,  will  you  kindly  send  Ines  out  of 
the  room;  an  explanation  would  not  be  possible  in  her 
presence. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL,  mahing  a  sign  to  her 
daughter  to  withdraw. — I  shall  be  with  you  in  a  few 
minutes,  dear. 

RAOUL,  to  Lies  as  he  kisses  her  hand. — It  is  perhaps 
good-by  forever  I 

{Exit  Lies.) 


SCENE    XI 

The  Duchess  of  Christoval.      The  Duchess  of 
MoNTSOREL.      Raoul.     Vautrin. 

VAUTRIN,  aside  to  the  Duchess  of  Christoval. — Do  you 
not  suspect  the  nature  of  the  interest  that  brings 
Madame  here? 


114  VAUTRIN 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRisK  )v  A  I..  —  I  am  beginninj,'  to  do 
so,  and  I  feel  deeply  shocked. 

vAUTRi.v. — Oh,  it  did  not  take  me  a  minute  to  guess 
the  existence  of  this  love. 

RAOUL,  to  Vdutriii. — I  suffocate  in  this  atmosphere 
of  deceit. 

\AUTRiN. — Just  one  word  more. 

THK  DUCHESS  OK  MONTsoREL. — I  know  how  Strange 
my  present  conduct  must  seem  to  you,  but  I, will  not 
attempt  as  yet  to  justify  it.  There  are  certain  sacred 
duties  before  which  all  social  proprieties  have  to  bow 
down.  So,  I  boldly  ask  you  now:  What  do  you  know 
about  this  gentleman  from  Mexico?  What  is  the 
extent  of  the  powers  he  brings? 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  cHRisTovAL,  (tJn^ih.;  ii  siyii  from 
Vaiifi  i/i. — I  am  not  allowed  to  answer  these  questions. 

IHE     DUCHESS    OK      MONTSOREE. 1     will     aUSWCr     tllcni 

for  you,  then.  This  man  is  either  the  dupe  or  the 
accomplice  of  people  who  find  it  to  their  interest  to 
deceive  us.  In  spite  of  the  letters  he  brought  you  and 
the  deeds  in  his  pos.session,  I  insist  that  everything 
in  these  documents  giving  Raoul  a  name  and  a  par- 
entage is  a  forgery. 

RAOUL. — Madame,  allow  me  to  say  that  I  do  not 
understand  by  what  right  you  should  throw  yourself 
across  my  life. 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — It  was  wisc  ou  your 
part,  Madame,  to  dismiss  my  daughter  and  your  son 
from  the  room. 

VAUTRIN. —  By  what  right,  did  you  say,  Raoul? 
{Addressing  the  Duchess  of  Montsorel.)  You  could  not 
answer  that  question,  Madame;  but  what  you  cannot 
confess  we  are  free  to  surmise — I  understand  too  well 


VAUTRIN  115 

the  feelings  that  induce  you  to  act  in  this  wise  and  the 
grief  this  marriage  is  causing  you,  not  to  pardon  you 
the  suspicions  you  have  cast  upon  my  character  and 
your  doubts  concerning  the  authenticity  of  the  deeds 
presented  by  me,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  Madame  de 
Christoval.  (Aside.)  Now,  let  me  paralyze  her.  [He 
ta/ces  her  aside.)  Before  being  a  Mexican  1  was  a 
Spaniard,  and  I  know  the  cause  of  your  hatred  against 
you  son  Albert.  As  to  the  interest  that  brings  you 
here,  I  shall  talk  it  over  with  your  worthy  father-con- 
fessor. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Then  you  know — 
vAUTKiN. — Everything.     (Aside.)     She  has  a  secret 
of  her  own.      (Aloud.)     The  documents  are  in  the  next 
room;  perhaps  you  would  like  to  examine  them? 

THE  DUCHKSs  OK  CHRISTOVAL. — Well,  what  do  you 
say,  my  dear? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. 1    Will    gO    With    yOU    tO 

Ines.  But,  I  entreat  you,  scrutinize  these  deeds 
minutely.  It  is  a  mother,  a  mother  in  despair,  who 
begs  you  to  do  so. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — A  mothcT  in  dcspair! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  to  liersclf. — How  cau  it 
be  that  this  man  holds  both  my  secret  and  my  son's. 

THE    DUCHESS    OF    CHRISTOVAL. — Will    yOU    COmC  UOW, 

Madame?  (The  Duchess  of  Montsorel  bows  her  assent 
and  the  two  leave  the  rcom.) 


ii6  VAUTRIN 


SCENE    XII 


Raoul.     Vautrin.     Later  Lafouraillk. 

VAUTRIN. — For  a  moment  I  thought  our  star  was 
waning,  but  it's  again  brighter  than  ever. 

kaoul.  —  But  what  humiliation  is  mine'  I  had  noth- 
ing in  the  world  but  my  honor,  and  I  have  delivered  it 
into  your  hands.  I  realize  now  liow  infernal  is  your 
power.  From  this  hour  on,  however,  I  am  tree  from 
your  yoke.     You  are  not  in  danger  any  longer,  good-by ! 

LAFOURAILLK,  wito  eu/evs  u'ltih  Juioi/I  is  tdlkimj. — Are 
we  among  ourselves?  That's  lucky!  The  Philosopher 
has  just  arrived  to  tell  me  that  the  police  have  raided 
our  house. 

vAUTRiN. — Another  would  give  up  the  fight — but  II 
Tell  me,  anybody  captured? 

LAFOURAiLLE. — Indeed  notl     We  have  manners,  sir! 

VAUTkiN. — You  say  the  Philosopher  is  down  stairs; 
in  what  garb? 

LAFOURAILLK. — Dresscd  as  a  footman. 

VAUi  RiN. — Then  he'll  climb  up  behind  my  carriage 
when  I  leave  tliis  house.  {In  a  lower  voice  to  Lafoii- 
raille.)  I'll  give  you  instructions  to  have  Prince 
d'Arjos,  {lie  loinks  toward  RaonI)  who  thinks  he  is 
going  to  fight  a  duel  to-morrow,  locked  up  in  a  safe 
place. 

KAOUL,  steppi/Kj  closer. — I  see — you  are  in  danger;  I 
will  not  forsake  you,  but  I  must  know — 

VAUiRiN. — You  will  know  nothing.  Don't  bother 
about  your  safety;  I  will  answer  for  it  in  spite  of 
yourself. 

RAOUL. — Oh,  I  know  the  future  in  store  for  me. 


VAUTRIN  117 

VAUTRIN. So  do   I. 

LAFOURAiLLE. — It's  gcttinj:^  Warmer. 

VAUTRIN. — It's  burning. 

LAFOURAILLE. — No  time  for  sentiment.  They  are 
after  us  and  on  horseback,  too. 

VAUTRIN. — But  we  are  their  match.  {Aside  to 
Lafonraille.)  Since  the  government  has  done  us  the 
honor  of  accepting  our  hospitality  for  its  police,  it 
would  be  discourteous  to  dislodge  them.  You  may  all 
scatter,  but  at  midnight,  sharp,  general  meeting  at 
Mother  Giroflee's.  You'll  have  to  be  sober,  for  I  don't 
want  to  meet  my  Waterloo,  and  the  Prussians  are  on 
us.     Now,  away! 

(Curtain  on  Fourth  Act.) 


FIFTH    ACT 

(One  of  the  dritwiiKj-ruoms  of  the  Montsorel  iiKinsiun,  mi  (fie 
ground  floor.) 


SCENE     I 

JOSEPH,  alone. — His  cursed  white  mark  is  on  the  little 
j^ate  to  the  garden  to-night.  This  sort  of  thing  can't 
go  on  forever;  the  devil  only  knows  what  he  is  up  to. 
Still,  I  prefer  to  meet  him  here  rather  than  in  the 
rooms  on  the  floor  above;  we  have  the  garden  at 
hand,  and,  in  case  of  alarm,  he  may  skip  that  way. 


.  SCENE   II 

Joseph.       Lafouraille.       Buteux.       Later    Vautkin. 

JOSEPH,  lieariag  in  the  garden  a  noise  t/iat  sounds  like 
prrrr. — Here  it  is  again!  Our  national  anthem!  It 
makes  me  shudder  every  time  I  hear  it.  {Enter 
lAifournille.)  Who  are  you?  [Sign  from  fAifuiiraiUe.) 
A  new  one? 

LAFOURAILLE. — An  old  oue! 

JOSEPH. — Is  he  there? 

LAKoURAiLLK. — Is  he  cvcr  late?  He  will  be  here 
directly.      {linteux  tt/ipears.) 

JOSEPH. — What,  there'll  be  three  of  you? 

LAFOURAILLE,  pointing  to  him. — There'll  be  four  of  us. 

Its 


VAUTRIN  119 

josEPii. — And  what  are  you  coming  here  for  at  this 
time  of  night?     Are  you  going  to  carry  off  everything? 

LAFouRAiLLE. — He  takcs  us  for  robbers! 

BUTEux. — In  hard  times,  one  may  do  such  things 
but  one  never  speaks  about  *em ! 

LAFOURAILLE. — Oh,  wc  are  doing  like  everybody 
else ;  trying  to  get  rich  quick ! 

JOSEPH. — But  Monsieur  le  Due  is  expected  every 
minute — 

LAFOURAILLE. — No,  he  is  not ;  he  won't  be  back 
before  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  we  have  all  the 
time  we  need.  So  don't  be  a  fool  and  mix  up  your 
dead  funk  with  the  dish  we  are  going  to  serve. 

nuTEUX. — And  piping  hot,  too. 

VAUTRIN,  he  wears  a  brown  coat,  a  black  waistcoat  and 
blue  trousers,  his  hair  combed  a  la  Napoleon.  As  he  steps 
in,  he  bloios  out  the  candle  which  had  lighted  the  room.  He 
pulls  from  his  pochet  a  dark  lanteryi  which  lets  out  only  a 
fickcr  of  light. — Too  much  light  here!  Do  you  think 
you  have  returned  to  quiet,  bourgeois  life?  That  this 
fool,  over  there,  should  have  forgotten  his  rudiments 
might  be  excusable,  but  you  two!  {To  Buteux,  point- 
ing to  Joseph.)  Take  him  aside  and  stuff  cotton  in  his 
ears.  {To  Lafouraillc.)  What  have  you  done  with  the 
young  one? 

LAFOURAILLE. — Under  lock  and  key. 

VAUTRIN. — Where? 

LAFOURAILLE. — In  Giroflce's  other  dovecote,  near  the 
Invalides. 

VAUTRIN, — Take  care  that  he  does  not  escape  like 
that  slippery  eel  of  a  Saint-Charles,  who  has  now  ran- 
sacked our  establishment —  I  don't  want  to  threaten, 
but  if  lie  also  escapes  — 


I20  VAUTRIN 

I,  \FOURAii,i,F.. — I'll  bet  niy  head  that  the  boy'il  stay 
s.ife!  The  Philosopher  has  fixed  him  with  bracelets 
on  his  ankles  and  wrists;  he  is  not  to  let  him  out  of 
liis  sight  until  I  relieve  him.  Of  course,  the  other  fel- 
low did  take  to  his  heels — but  you  know  poor  Girofldc 
is  weak  on  the  liquor  question  and  Blondet  soaked  her 
full  of  brandy. 

VAUTRIN. — And  what  does  Raoul  say? 

i.AFouRAii.i.F.. — Oh,  he  is  simply  ravinj^  about  his 
being  dishonored  and  all  that  kind  of  rt^t.  lUit  the 
Philosopher  doesn't  get  rattled  that  easy. 

VAUTRIN. — Can  you  conceive  anything  more  foolish 
than  the  demand  of  this  lad  that  he  be  allowed  to 
fight  to  the  death?  These  young  fellows  are  dread- 
fully timid,  and  yet  they  have  the  courage  not  to  show 
the  white  feather  and  the  silliness  to  face  (loath  to 
prove  it.     I  hope  he  was  not  allowed  to  write? 

i.AFouRAiLi.E,  (isidc. — Cauglit I  {Aloud.)  Wc  must 
tell  you  the  truth.  Before  wc  got  the  prince  under 
restraint  he  had  slipped  a  note  to  little  Nini,  and  the 
girl  carried  it  to  the  Christoval  mansion. 

VAUTRIN. — To  Ines? 

LAFOURAII.I.K. — To  InCS. 

VAUTRIN. — Love-sick  effusions,  I  suppose! 

i.AFOURAii.i.E. — Sheer  nonsense! 

VAUTRIN,  to  Joseph. — Eh!     Here,  the  honest  man! 

HUTEux,  hriufjinfj  .loi^oph  lo  Vantrin. — You'll  have  to 
reason  with  the  gentleman;  he  needs  it. 

JOSEPH. — Haven't  I  got  the  right  to  ask  what  risk  J 
am  running  and  what  it's  going  to  be  worth  to  me? 

VAUTRIN. — Time  is  short,  talk  is  long,  let  us  grab 
the  first  and  drop  the  second.  Just  now  two  lives  are 
in  peril:  that  of  a  man  whom  I  w.mt  to  save  and  that 


VAUTRIN  I2t, 

of  a  guardsman  whom  I  consider  in  the  way.  The 
latter  we  are  going  to  suppress. 

josF.PH. — Do  you  mean  the  life  of  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis?    I  won't  touch  that  job,  sir. 

LAFOURAii.LE. — Your  cousent  is  not  yours  to  give. 

RUTEux. — It  belongs  to  us.  My  dear  fellow,  don't 
you  know  that  when  the  wine  is  drawn  it  has  to  be — • 

JOSEPH. — If  it's  bad,  one  doesn't  have  to  drink  it. 

VAUTRIN. — So,  you  refuse  to  touch  glasses  with  me? 
Who  thinks  twice,  schemes,  and  who  schemes,  be- 
trays. 

JOSEPH. — Your  scheming  drives  me  crazy. 

VAUTRIN. — Shut  up!  You  bother  me.  Your  master 
plans  to  fight  a  mortal  combat  to-morrow.  One  of  the 
adversaries  in  the  duel  would  be  killed.  All  you  have 
to  do,  to  quiet  your  conscience,  is  to  imagine  that  the 
Marquis  fought  that  duel  and  was  the  unlucky  man. 

BUTEUX. — That's  the  right  way  to  put  it! 

LAFOURAiLLE. — MousieuT  Vautriu  is  simply  playing 
the  part  of  Fate ' 

JOSEPH, — A  nice  part! 

BUTEUX. — Good  business  and  no  taxes. 

VAUTRIN,  pointing  to  Lafonraille  and  Buleux. — You 
are  going  to  hide  them. 

JOSEPH. — Where? 

VAUTRIN. — I  tell  you  to  hide  them;  that's  enough. 
When  everybody  but  us  is  asleep  in  the  house,  you'll 
fetch  them  from  their  place  of  concealment  and  show 
them  the  way  to  the  Marquis'  room.  {To  LafourailJe 
and  Buteux.)  Try  to  discover  it  without  his  help. 
The  windows  of  the  room  open  on  the  courtyard. 
(Speaking  in  a  loioer  voice.)  Throw  him  out;  just  the 
act  to  which  a  desperate  man  would  have  recourse. 


133  VAUTRIN 

{To  Jnsfph.)      You  see,  itwill  he  thought  a  suicide  and 
nobody  will  be  sUvSpectcd. 

{Exennt  the  three  men.) 


SCENE    III 

VAUTRIN,  alone. — All  is  saved.  Only  the  servants  in 
our  house  were  suspected  by  the  police;  I'll  have 
another  crew  in  a  few  days.  Blondet  fell  flat  in  his 
attempted  treachery,  and  as  bad  accounts  make  good 
friends,  I'll  inform  the  Duke  that  he  is  the  murderer 
of  the  Vicomte  de  Langeac.  Finally,  T  shall  learn  the 
secrets  of  the  Montsorels  and  the  reason  for  the 
Duchess'  strange  conduct  lately.  What  a  fine  move  it 
would  be  if  that  information  were  to  give  a  motive  for 
the  Marquis'  suicide ! 

SCENE    IV 

Vautrin.      Joskph. 

JOSEPH. — I  hid  your  men  in  the  conservatory.  You 
are  not  going  to  stay  here,  I  suppose. 

VAUTRIN. — No,  I  ])ropose  to  read  awhile  in  the 
Duke's  study. 

JOSEPH. — And  if  he  should  return,  you  arc  not 
afraid — 

VAUTRIN.  If  I  were  afraid  of  anything,  should  I  be 
the  master  of  all  of  you  fellows. 

JOSEPH. — But  where  will  you  go? 

VAUTRIN. — You  are  too  curious. 


VAUTRIN  133 


SCENE   V 

JOSEPH,  alone. — He  is  fixed,  so  are  his  two  men;  I 
have  them  in  my  hands  and  as  I  don't  care  to  be  mixed 
lip  in  this  affair — 


SCENE    VI 
Joseph.     A  Footman.      Later  Saint-Chaklf.s. 

THE  footman. — Monsieur  Joseph,  some  one  to  see 
you. 

JOSEPH. — At  this  time  of  night? 

saint-charles,  steppinf/  behind  the  foofuran. — I  am 
the  man. 

JOSEPH,  ^0  the  footman. — That's  all  right;  you  may 
go.      {Exit  footman.) 

saint-charles. — Monsieur  le  Due  cannot  return 
home  before  the  King  retires.  But  the  Duchess  is 
expected  directly,  and,  as  I  must  speak  to  her  in 
private,  I  shall  await  her  here. 

JOSEPH, — Here? 

saint-charles, — Yes,  here. 

JOSEPH,  aside. — Good  Lord;  and  if  Jacques — 

saint-charles. — Am  I  in  your  way? 

JOSEPH. — Not  at  all,  not  at  all. 

saint-charles. — If  you  are  expecting  somebody, 
why  don't  you  tell  me  so? 

JOSEPH. — I  am  only  expecting  Madame. 

saint-charles. — Supposing  it  were  Jacques  Collin? 

JOSEPH. — Don't  mention  that  man's  name;  it  gives 
me  the  shivers. 


124  VAUTRIN 

SAiNT-cnARi.ES. — Collin  is  mixed  up  in  ;i  certain  busi- 
ness tliat  is  likely  to  have  brought  him  to  this  house. 
Have  you  not  seen  him?  Between  you  people  such 
things  can't  be  avoided,  I  know.  I  have  not  the  time 
to  beat  the  bush,  I  have  not  the  time  to  buy  you  up. 
Choose  between  us,  and  do  so  at  once. 

losKi'H. — What  do  you  want  of  me? 

s.MNT-cH.vKi.Es. — I  waut  to  be  informed  of  the  very 
least  of  the  happenings  in  this  house. 

JOSEPH. — Well,  then,  the  latest  news  is  that  of  the 
Marquis'  duel;  he  is  to  fight  Monsieur  de  Frescas, 
to-morrow. 

SAINT-CHAR  I, Ks. — Anything  else? 

Jos^:PH.  —  I  hear  Madame  la  Ducliesse  returning. 

{Exit  Joseph.) 


SCENE   vir 

SAiNT-CHARi.ES,  a/o?if. — O,  the  cowardly  fellow !  But 
this  duel  is  an  excellent  pretext  for  obtaining  an  audi- 
ence from  the  Duchess.  The  Duke  failed  to  rate  mc 
aright;  he  thought  I  was  a  mere  instrument  to  be 
dropped  and  picked  up  again  at  will.  When  he  told 
me  to  keep  the  whole  matter  from  his  wife,  he  never 
thought  he  was  giving  mc  arms  against  himself.  To 
exploit  the  mistakes  of  others— that's  the  capital  of 
strong  men.  I  have  devoured  many  such  capitals 
already,  but  my  appetite  is  still  good. 


VAUTRIN  125 


SCENE    VIII 

Saint-Charles.     The  Duchess  of  Montsoref,. 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaudrey. 

{As  the  ladies  toalk  in,  Saint-Charles  steps  out  of  the 
way  and  is  not  noticed  while  the  Jietocomers  stand  talhing 
at  the  front  of  the  stage.) 

mademoiselle  de  vaudkey. — You  seem  quite  down- 
cast, dear  friend. 

THE  duchess  of  montsorel,  dropping  into  an  arm- 
chair.— I  am  dead!     You  were  right!     No  more  hope! 

SAINT-CHARLES,  stepping  forward  and  boioing. — 
Madame  la  Duchesse. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF    MONTSOREL. — Oh,     I    foTgOt    that    yOU 

were  coming,  sir;  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to 
grant  you  the  interview  you  have  solicited.  To-mor- 
row, perhaps  later. 

MADEMOISELLE     DE     VAUDREY. My    uicCC,     sir,     is     UOt 

able  to  listen  to  you. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — To-morrow  will  be  too  late,  ladies! 
The  life  of  your  son,  the  Marquis,  who  is  to  fight  a 
duel  at  daybreak  with  Monsieur  de  Frescas,  is  at 
stake. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOKEL. — Oh,  this  ducl  is  hor- 
rible! 

MADEMOISELLE      DE      VAUDREY,     in     a      loW     VOicB     tO     thc 

Duchess. — You  forget  already  that  Raoul  is  a  total 
stranger  to  you ! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  to  Saiut-CharUs. — My  son 
will  know  how  to  do  his  duty,  sir. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — If  it  wcTc  Only  a  matter  of  an  ordi- 


126  VAUTKIN 

nary  duel,  should  I  take  the  unusual  liberty  of  inform- 
ing a  mother  of  it?  But,  in  this  case,  your  son  is  to 
be  killed  without  having  a  chance  to  fight  for  his  life. 
His  adversary  has  in  his  pay  a  gang  of  murderers  who 
use  him  as  a  mantle  to  cover  their  infamies. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOKEL. — And  what  proof  have 
you  of  this  extraordinary  statement? 

sAiNT-CHAKi.ES. — A  pretended  chamberlain  of  this 
Monsieur  de  Frescas  offered  me  an  enormous  sum  to 
assist  him  in  a  huge  conspiracy  against  the  Christoval 
family.  To  get  out  of  his  clutches,  I  had  to  feign  to 
accept  his  proposal ;  but,  just  as  I  was  walking  over  to 
police  headquarters,  two  passers-by  rushed  so  violently 
against  me  that  they  threw  me  down.  The  fall  made 
me  unconscious,  and,  before  I  recovered  I  had  been 
drugged  and  carried  away  in  a  cab.  When  I  awoke  I 
was  a  prisoner  in  a  disreputable  den.  But,  in  this 
new  peril,  my  coolness  returned  to  me;  I  managed  to 
slip  out  of  my  prison,  and  at  once  began  to  track 
these  bold  rascals. 

M ADK.MoiSELLE  DE  vAUDKEv. — Were  wc  not  told  by 
Joseph  that  you  were  here  in  Monsieur  de  Montsorel's 
interest? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — So  I  am,  Madam. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSdREi,. — But  who  are  you,  sir? 

SAiNT-cHARi.ES. — A  Confidential  adviser  whom  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  trusts  only  half,  and  who  is  paid  to  collect 
information  on  mysterious  happenings. 

MADEMOISKI.I.E   DKVAUDREY. Oh,    Louisc! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREi.. — And  what  made  you 
bold  enough  to  dare  address  yourself  to  me,  sir? 

sAiNT-CMARLF.s. — The  dangcT  you  are  in,  Madame. 
It  is  true,  I  am   paid  to  act  as  your  enemy;  but  if  you 


VAUTRIN  127 

consent  to  be  as  wise  as  I  am  and  ^raiit  me  your  pro- 
tection, I  shall  prefer  it  to  the  hollow  promises  of 
Monsieur  le  Due.  And  final  victory  will  be  yours. 
Time  is  pressing,  however;  the  Duke  will  be  home  in 
a  few  moments  and  if  he  found  us  conferring  together, 
success  would  be  extremely  doubtful. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MoNTsoREL,  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Vaudrey. — Ah,  what  a  new  hope!  {To  Saint- (yharles.) 
And  what  were  you  doing  in  Monsieur  de  Frescas' 
house? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — What  am  I  now  doing  in  your  own, 
Madame? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — So,  you  keep  silcut. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Madame  la  Duchesse  refuses  to  give 
me  an  answer;  on  the  other  hand.  Monsieur  le  Due 
has  my  pledged  word  and  he  is  all-powerful. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — And  I,  sir,  havc  un- 
limited wealth  at  my  command;  but  do  not  expect  to 
deceive  me.  {Sherisc,<i.)  Monsieur  de  Montsorel  shall 
not  succeed  in  duping  me,  this  time;  I  see  a  new  proof 
of  his  cleverness  in  this  request  of  yours  for  a  confi- 
dential talk ;  so  I  am  going  to  complete  the  informa- 
tion you  are  after,  ( With  a  half  smile. )  Monsieur  de 
Frescas  is  not  a  scoundrel,  his  servants  are  not  mur- 
derers; he  belongs  to  a  family  both  noble  and  rich  and 
he  is  about  to  marry  the  Princess  of  Arjos. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — You  are  right,  Madame,  an  Envoy 
from  the  Emperor  of  Mexico,  has  just  brought  over  to 
the  Duchess  letters  from  Monsieur  de  Christoval  and 
other  documents  of  an  unusually  apparent  genuine- 
ness. You  sent  for  the  Secretary  of  the  Spanish 
Embassy  to  come  and  examine  them,  and  he  acknowl- 


w8  VAUTRIN 

edged  the  correctness  of  text,  signatures,  seals, 
endorsements,  etc.     Not  a  tiaw  anywhere. 

THK  DucHiiss  OF  .MONTSOREL. — Yes,  sir,  thesc  papers 
are  unimpeachable. 

SAiNT-CHARLKs. — Then  you  had  a  great  desire, 
Madame,  that  they  should  turn  out  forgeries? 

THK  uucHKSS  OK  MONTSOREL,  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Vaudrey. — Has  ever  such  torture  torn  the  heart  of  a 
mother? 

SAINT-CHARLKS,  (f.vtWf. —Which  side  must  I  adopt,  the 
wife's  or  the  husband's? 

THE  DUCHESS  oi  MONTSOREL. — Sir,  I  am  ready  to  pay 
a  reward,  the  amount  of  which  you  may  fix  yourself, 
if  you  are  able  to  prove  to  me  that  Monsieur  Raoul  de 
Frescas  is — 

SAINT-CHARLES. A  SCOUUdrcl? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. No,   but  a  child 

SAINT-CHAkLES. YoUT    child? 

THE  UUCHKSS  OF  .MONTSOREL,  forgettiiKj  ecerytliiny. — 
Yes,  yes.  my  child  I  Be  my  savior,  and  I  will  be  your 
protectress  forever.  {To  Mudeinuiselle  de  Vaudrey.) 
Oh,  what  have  I  said!!  {To  Saint- ('harles.)  Where  is 
Raoul? 

SAIN  1 -CHARLES. — Vanished!  And  his  chamberlain, 
who  had  these  deeds  manufactured  by  one  of  his  men. 
Rue  Oblin,  is  one  of  our  most  cunning  criminals.  It 
was,  doubtless,  he  who  acted  the  part  of  the  Mexican 
Envoy.  {The  JJitrhe.ss  starts  bach.)  Oh,  have  no  fear, 
he  is  not  a  man  to  spill  blood,  but  he  is  just  as  danger- 
ous as  those  who  pour  it  recklessly.  And  this  monster 
is  the  young  man's  guardian! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  .MONTSOREL. — Savc  his  life  and  your 
fortune  is  made! 


VAUTRIN  129 

SAINT  CHARLES. — Madame,  I  am  yours  to  command. 
(Aside.)  She'll  tell  me  everything  and  then  I'll  make 
my  choice. 


SCENE    IX 

The  Preceding.     The  Duke.     A  Footman. 

THE  DUKE. —  And  so,  I  find  you  triumphant, 
Madame;  everybody  is  talking  of  Monsieur  de  Frescas, 
his  fortune  and  his  marriage;  but  he  has  a  family 
besides —  {In  a  lotv  voice.)  He  has  a  mother! 
{He  notices  Saint  -  Charles.)  You  here,  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier,  and  conversing  with  Madame? 

SAINT-CHARLES,  usiilc  to  the  Dukc. —  I  am  sure  of 
Monsieur  le  Due's  approval.  {Aloud.)  You  were  on 
duty  at  the  castle.  Was  I  not  right  in  informing 
Madame  la  Duchesse,  in  your  absence,  of  the  danger 
to  which  your  son,  the  Marquis,  is  exposed — a  danger 
of  murder? 

THE  DUKE. — Of  murder! 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Ycs,  but  if  Mousicur  le  Due  deigns 
to  follow  my  advice — 

THE  DUKE. — Step  with  me  into  my  study,  sir,  and 
we  shall  take  at  once  the  necessary  measures. 

SAiNT-CHARLES,  making  a  sign  of  understandi7ig  to  the 
Duchess  behind  the  Duke's  back. — I  have  many  strange 
things  to  tell  you.  Monsieur  le  Due.  {To  himself.) 
I'll  stay  on  the  Duke's  side! 


130  VAUTRIN 


SCENE    X 

Thk  Duchess  of  Montsorkl.     Mademoiselle 
DE  Vaudrkv.      Later  Vautrin. 

MADEMoisELLK  DE  VAUDREV. — If  Raoul  is  truly  youT 
son,  in  what  infamous  company  you  are  finding  him ! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — A  siuglc  angel  woultl 
suffice  to  purify  hell! 

VAUTRIN,  lie  lias  noiselessly  opened  one  of  the  windov- 
doors  that  lead  to  the  garden.  TJirough  the  crack  he  has 
heard  all  that  took  place  between  Saint-Charhs  and  the 
Duchess.  Aside. — I  know  everything.  Two  brothers 
cannot,  must  not  fight  to  the  death.  But  here  is  my 
Duchess,      (fie  vmlks  a  feto  steps  for  xvard.)     Ladies — 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUDREY. — A  man!     Help!     Help! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — It  is  the  Same  man! 

VAUTRIN, — Silence!  Why  must  women  always 
shriek?  [To  Jfadcmoisclle  de  Windrey.)  Run  to  the 
Marcjuis'  apartment;  two  scoundrels  are  there  bent 
xipon  murdering  him!  Run  quick,  quick,  don't  let 
him  be  slaughtered!  And  have  the  two  rascals  seized 
with  as  little  commotion  as  possible.  (7b  the 
Duchess.)     And  you,  Madame,  stay  here. 

THE  DiJCHKss  OK  MONTSOREL. — Go,  dear  uunt,  and 
have  no  fear  on  my  account. 

VAUTRIN,  aside. — Won't  my  fellows  be  surprised, 
though!  What  will  they  think  of  me?  It's  a  pretty 
severe  test.  ('/'///'  noise  of'  a  scujjle  is  heard  i),  the  dis- 
tance.) 


VAUTRIN  131 


SCENE    XI 

The  Duchess  of  Montsorel.     Vautrin. 

THE  DUCHi.ss  OK  MONTSOREL. — The  whole  housc  is  in 
an  uproar;  my  absence  is  sure  to  cause  comment! 

VAUTRIN. — Let  us  hope  they'll  save  the  bastard  heir. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — But  they  kuow  who 
you  are  and  even  now  Monsieur  de  Montsorel  is  with — 

VAUTRIN. — The  Chevalier  de  Saint-Charles.  I  am 
not  afraid;  you'll  defend  me. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. 1! 

VAUTRIN. — Yes,  you.  Otherwise  you  shall  never  set 
eyes  again  on  your  son,  Fernand  de  Montsorel. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Then  Raoul  is  truly, 
really — my  son? 

VAUTRIN. — Alas!  He  is.  I  hold  in  my  hands  con- 
vincing proofs  of  your  innocence  and — I  hold  your  son. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — You  do?  Then  you 
shall  not  leave  my  side  until — 

SCENE    XII 

The    Preceding.       Mademoiselle     de    Vaudrey    and 
Xumerous  Servants.      Saint-Charles. 

mademoiselle  de  vaudrey. — Here  he  is!  Here  he  is! 
Save  her! 

THE  duchess  or  MONTSOREL,  to  Mademoiselle  de  Vau- 
drey.— You  wreck  everything! 

saint-charles,  low  to  the  servants. — Here  is  the  chief 
and  leader  of  the  gang!  Get  hold  of  him,  whatever  he 
says. 


I  Si  VAUTRIN 

IHK  DUCHl  SS  1)1      MONISUKEI,,    /o  hC)'  seirfDlfs. 1     ordcf 

you  to  leave  me  alone  with  this  man. 

VAUTKIN,  to  iSai7it-0}inrhs. — Well,  Chevalier? 

SAINT-CHARLKS,  fo  Voutriyi. — I  must  say,  I  fail  to 
understand  you.  Baron. 

vAi'TkiN,  in  a  lair  roicc  to  the  Durltess. — Vou  see  in 
this  man  the  murderer  of  Vicomte  de  Langeac,  whom 
you  loved  so  dearly. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL.  —  He! 

VAUTKix. — Have  him  closely  watched.  He  slips 
through  one's  hand  like  money. 

THE   UUCHKSS  OF  MONTSOKKL. JosephI 

VAUTKIN,  in  a  low  voice  to  Joseph  as  the  man  steps  to  his 
mistress. — What  happened  upstairs? 

JOSEPH. — Monsieur  le  Marquis  was  examining  his 
weapons  when  he  was  attacked  frcjm  behind;  he 
could  defend  himself  and  received  but  two  trilling 
wounds.      Monsieur  le  Due  is  with  him. 

THE  DUCHESS  oi'  .MONTsoKEL,  to  her  uHut. — I  beg  of  you, 
return  to  Albert's  roi:>ni.  (To  Joseph,  pointing  to  Saint- 
Charles.)      I  will  hold  you  responsible  for  this  man. 

VAUTkiN,  to  Joseph. — You  shall  answer  for  him  tome, 
too. 

SAiNT-CHAkLKS,  to  Vautrin. — I  understand;  you 
forestalled  me. 

VAUTRiN. — No  grudge,  I  hope? 

SAINT-CHARLES,  to  Joseph. — Take  me  to  the  Duke. 
[Exeunt  Saijit- Charles  and  Joseph.) 


VAUTRIN  133 


SCENE    XIII 

Vautrin.     The  Duchess  of  Montsorel. 

VAUTRIN',  to  hi)nself. — Raoul  has  a  mother,  a  father, 
a  family —  What  a  disaster  for  me!  Whom  shall  I 
now  have  to  love,  to  whom  shall  I  devote  myself? 
Ten  years  of  paternity — that  can't  be  grown  in  a  day! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  coming  closer  to  Vautrin. 
—Well,  sir? 

VAUTRIN. — Well,  Madame,  I  will  not  return  you 
your  son —  I  have  not  the  courage  to  stand  both  his 
loss  and  his  contempt.  I  would  never  discover  another 
Raoul!     And  my  whole  life  is  wrapped  up  in  him. 

THE    DUCHESS    OF  MONTSOREL. — But  hoW  COUld  he  loVC 

you?  You,  a  criminal,  whom  we  may  deliver  at  any 
time  into  the  hands  of — 

VAUTRIN.  —  Of  the  police,  I  suppose!  Well,  I  thought 
you  had  a  kinder  heart!  But  do  you  not  understand 
that  if  you  do  that  I  will  drag  you,  your  son  and  the 
Duke  into  an  abyss  that  will  engulf  us  all? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Ah,  what  did  you  make 
of  my  poor  child? 

VAUTRIN. — I  made  of  him  a  man  of  honor. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — And  hc  loves  you? 

VAUTRIN. — up  to  this  moment,  yes. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — And  did  the  wretch  who 
just  Stepped  out  tell  the  truth  when  he  declared  who 
you  were  and  whence  you  came? 

VAUTRIN. — He  did,  Madame. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — And  you  took  caTc  of 
my  child? 


134  VAUTRIN 

VAUTRiN. — Your  child?  Our'  child  I  Have  you  not 
realized  yet  that  he  is  as  pure  as  an  angel  born? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Ah,  then,  whatever 
you  did,  whoever  you  are — be  blessed!  Yes,  blessed 
a  hundredfold,  and  may  the  whole  world  pardon  you! 
Lord  God!  {She  bends  her  knees  before  a  chair  in  the 
attHude  of  prnyer.)  Lord  God,  if  a  mother's  voice 
reaches  thy  throne,  forgive,  oh,  forgive,  this  man  all 
he  may  ever  have  done.  {She  looks  at  Vautrin.)  Oh, 
my  tears  will  cleanse  his  guilty  hands!  For  he  shall 
repent!  He  belongs  to  me  now,  I  will  change  his  very 
nature !  But,  no,  it  is  all  a  mistake,  you  are  not  a 
criminal — even  if  you  were,  all  mothers  will  absolve 
you! 

VAUTRIN. — I  see — I  will  have  to  give  her  back  her 
son. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. What!       WcTC    yOU    Still 

harboring  the  horrible  thought  of  not  returning  this 
son  to  his  mother?  I  have  waited  for  him  twenty-two 
years. 

VAUTRIN. — And  I — for  ten  years — have  I  not  been  his 
father?  Why,  Raoul  is  my  very  soul!  What  do  I  care 
for  suffering  and  shame  if  I  only  know  him  to  be 
happy  and  proud!  I  shall  just  look  at  him  and  my  life 
will  be  worth  living. 

rHE  DUCHESS  OF  .MONTSOREL. — I  am  lost !  He  loVCii 
him  as  a  mother  would! 

VAUTRIN. — My  only  bond  with  the  world  and  with 
life  was  through  this  brilliant  ring  of  purest  gold! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Witliout  one  Stain? 

VAUTRIN. — Without  one  stain —  Ah,  we  people 
know  what  virtue  means —  We  are  hard  to  please,  I 
tell  you!     No — to  me,  all  the  infamy,  to  him,  all   the 


VAUTRIN  135 

honors!  And  think  of  it:  I  found  him  on  the  King's 
highway,  between  Toulon  and  Marseilles,  a  little  boy 
twelve  years  old,  in  rags,  without  a  crust! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — -Barcfooted,    perhaps? 

VAUTRIN. — Yes;  but  so  pretty  with  his  little  curly 
head. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — You  saw  him  Hlcc  that? 

VAUTRIN. — Poor  angel,  he  was  crying  bitterly! 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — And  you  fed  him. 

VAUTRIN. — I  did.  Sometimes  I  had  to  rob  to  feed 
him. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — I  would  have  Tobbed 
also,  I  would! 

VAUTRIN. — 1  did  better. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Oh,  how  much  he  must 
have  suffered ! 

VAUTRIN. — He  did  not!  I  concealed  from  him  the 
means  that  made  his  life  so  easy,  so  happy.  I  did  not 
want  his  mind  soiled  by  even  a  suspicion  of  the  truth. 
Your  parchments  will  make  a  nobleman  of  him, 
Madame,  but  I  made  him  noble  at  heart. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL, — But,  was  he  uot  my 
son? 

VAUTRIN. — Indeed  he  was!  Full  of  lofty  ambitions, 
of  charming  manners,  of  lovely  instincts.  I  had  only 
to  show  him  the  way. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL,  pressing  the  hand  of 
Vautrin. — Oh,  how  great  you  must  have  been  to  thus 
accomplish  a  mother's  task! 

VAUTRIN. — Oh,  I  did  it  better  than  many  a  mother! 
You  often  love  your  children  so  unwisely.  Even  now 
you  are  going  to  spoil  him!  He  used  to  be  so  reck- 
lessly courageous;    wanted  to  join  Napoleon's  army, 


T36  VAUTRIN 

and  the  Emperor  would  have  liked  him.  Hut  I  pre- 
ferred to  show  him  men  and  the  world  in  their  true 
lij:[ht.     That's  why  he  will  deny  mc  now! 

THE  DUCHKss  OK  MONTSoRKi,. — ^My  SOU,  ungratcful ! 

VAUTRIN. — Not  yours,  mine! 

iHK  DucHF.ss  OK  MONTSOREL. — And  now  j^ive  him 
back  to  me  at  once. 

VAUTRIN. — The  two  men,  upstairs,  and  myself,  are 
}:;;ravely  compromised.  First  of  all,  Monsieur  le  Due 
must  secure  us  secrecy  and  freedom. 

THE  DUCHF.SS  OK  MONTSORKL. — Then  thcsc  two  men 
and  you  came  to — 

VAUTRIN. — In  a  few  hours,  either  the  leg^itimate  son 
or  the  bastard  was  to  be  a  dead  man.  They  might 
even  have  killed  each  other. 

THE  DUCHKSS  OF  MONTSORF.L. — Oh,  vou  act  the  part  of 
a  dreadful  Providence — 

VAUTRIN. — What  would  you  have  done  in  my  place? 


SCENE    XIV 

Thk  Prkceding.     The  I)uki\     IvAkour aii.i.k.     Butkux. 
Sain  t-Charlks.      Ail  ruK  Servants. 

THK  DUKE,  pninliiKj  fo  Viiutrin. — Take  hold  of  this 
man!  {I'ointing  to  Sainl-('harles.)  And  obey  this  man 
only. 

THE   DUCHESS   OF   .MONTSOREL. But    yOU    OWe     tO     MoU- 

sieur   {pointing    fn    Vautrin)    the  life  of  your  Albert. 
He  gave  the  alarm. 
THE  DUKE. — He' 


VAUTRIX  137 

BUTF.ux,  lo  Vaiilrin. — So  you  bclraycd  -us I  'I'licn 
why  did  you  bring  us  here? 

saint-charlp:s,  to  the  Ihikr. — You  hear  him,  Moti- 
sicur  le  Due? 

i.Ai'ouKAii.r.K,  U)  llnlriix. — vShut  up.  Who  are  we,  to 
judge  him? 

HUTEUX. — But  if  he  has  thrown  ns  over? 

VAUTRiN,  to  the  Duke. — Monsieur  le  Due,  these  two 
men  are  mine,  I  claim  them. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Behold  Monsieur  de  Frescas'  house- 
hold! 

VAUTRIN,  tdlSaint- Charles. — Silence,  you  steward  of 
the  Langeacs.  {He  points  to  Lafouraillc.)  Here  is 
your  old  chum  Boulard.  {Lafouraille  makes  a  mock 
bo?v.)  Monsieur  le  Due,  order  all  these  people  to 
leave  the  room. 

THE  DUKE. — What!  In  my  house,  you  dare  com- 
mand ! 

TMK  DUCHESS  OK  MONTsoRKL. — Ah,  sir,  lic  is  master 
here! 

THE  DUKE. — What!     This  scoundrel? 

VAUTRIN. — If  Monsieur  le  Due  is  so  fond  of  an  audi- 
ence, let  us  talk  of  the  son  of  Dona  Mercedes — 

THE  DUKE. — Be  silent! 

VAUTRIN. — Whom  you  managed  to  pass  for — 

THE  DUKE. — Again  I  say,  be  silent! 

VAUTRIN. — Then  you  admit.  Monsieur  le  Due,  that 
there  are  too  many  people  here? 

THE  DUKE. — Let  everybody  withdraw! 

VAUTRIN,  to  the  Dnke. — Have  all  the  exits  of  your 
mansion  closely  guarded,  and  let  none  but  these  two 
men  leave  it.  {He  pulls  a  poniard  from  his  jjocket  and 
cuts  the  rojjes  binding  the  hands  and  feet  of  Butevx  and 


i;,8  VAUTRIX 

Lafournillc.)  Jvscapc  through  the  small  garden  gate; 
here  is  the  key.  (io  to  Mother  Giroflce's  and  send 
Raoul  here  to  me  at  once. 

LAKOURAiLLK. — You  are  still  our  true  ICmpcror! 

VAUTRIN. — I'll  send  you  money  and  passports. 

BUTKux. — At  last  I'll  have  enough  for  myself  and 
my  Adble ! 

[Exeiinl  LnfmiraxUc  and  liutcn.r.) 

VAUTRIN,  ii\  Saini-<'harles. — You  stay  in  this  room. 

iHF.  DUKE. — How  do  you  happen  to  know  so  much? 

\AVTRis,  jflaciuf/  pttpers  in  the  Dnke\'^  /lands. — I  dis- 
covered these  in  your  study. 

THE  DUKE. — My  correspondence  and  the  letters  of 
Madame  to  the  Vicomte  de  Langeac! 

VAUTRIN. — Shot  dead  at  Mortagne,  in  October, 
1792,  through  the  kind  offices  of  Charles  Blondet,  alias 
Chevalier  de  Saint-Charles. 

SAiNT-CHAkLEs. — But,  MonsicuT  le  Due— 

VAUTRIN.  —  Me  gave  me  himself  the  documents  I  now 
offer  in  evidence  and  among  which  you  will  find  the 
death  certificate  of  the  Vicomte,  proving  that  he  and 
Madame  la  Duchesse  never  saw  each  other  again  after 
the  tenth  of  August,  for  the  unfortunate  man  was 
taken  straight  from  tlie  prison  of  the  Abbaye  in  Paris 
to  the  spot  where  he  was  to  be  foully  betrayed  and 
put  to  death.      Boulard  was  with  him  all  that  time. 

THE  DUKE. — Then  Fernand? 

VAUTRIN. — The  child  whom  you  caused  to  be  trans- 
ported to  Sardinia  is  truly  your  son! 

THE  DUKE. — And  Madame? 

VAUTRIN.  —  Is  innocent  (^f  any  wrongdoing. 


VAUTRIN  139 

THK  DUKK. — Ah, —  {He  (Iropx  into  tm  nrui-chair.) 
What  have  I  done  I 

THE  DUCHKss  OF  MONTi^oREL. — What  a  lioiTible  array 
of  facts!  The  Vicomte  is  dead,  and  his  murderer 
stands  before  us! 

VAUTRIN. — Monsieur  le  Due,  I  have  been  a  father  to 
Fernand,  and  my  last  move  was  made  to  prevent  the 
two  brothers  from  murdering  each  other. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — I  Icnow  what  this  man 
is  suffering  at  the  mere  thought  of  giving  up  Fernand 
forever.  But,  remember,  remember,  sir,  you  prom- 
ised to  return  me  my  child ! 

THE  DUKE. — Then  Raoul  de  Frescas? 

VAUTRIN. — Fernand  de  Montsorel  will  be  here  in  a 
moment.  (Aside  to  Saint- Charles.)  Well,  what  do 
you  say  to  this? 

SAINT-CHARLES. — You  are  a  hero.  Just  let  me  be 
your  valet. 

VAUTRIN. — You  are  ambitious.  And  you'll  follow 
me — 

SAiNT-CHARLES. — The  world  over. 

VAUTRIN, — I'll  soon  find  out. 

SAINT-CHARLES. — Ah,  what  an  artist  you  are  securing 
in  me,  and  what  a  loss  to  the  government! 

VAUTRIN. — All  right,  then;  go,  and  wait  for  me  at 
the  Passport-office. 

{Exit  Saint -Charles.) 


'40  VAl'TRIX 


vSCHNlC     XV 


THK    PRE(   KI)IN(;.        Thf.   DUCIIKSS  ok    CuklSTOVAL.        InES. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaudrey. 

MADEMOISELLE   1)K   VAUDRKV. Here   they  HFC  ! 

THE  DL'CHKss  OF  CHRISTOVAL. — To-niglit,  Madamc, 
my  daughter  received  from  Monsieur  Raoul  a  letter  in 
which  this  noble  young  man  declares  that  he  prefers 
to  give  up  all  hopes  of  obtaining  her  rather  tlian  to 
deceive  us.  And  he  gives  the  history  of  his  whole 
life.  I  understand  that  he  is  to  fight  a  duel  with  the 
Marquis  in  a  few  hours,  Ines  being  the  involuntary 
cause  of  this  encounter.  As  the  motive  is  now 
removed,  we  liave  come  here  to  prevent  this  dread 
event.    . 

THK  DUCHESS  OF  MONTsuRKi,. — There  will  be  IK;  duel, 
Madame, 

INES. — He  will  live  then! 

THE     DUCHESS     OF     MONTSOKEL. Aud       yoU      shall      bc 

Marquise  de  Montsorel,  my  child. 


SCENE    XVI 

Tmk  Pkickdinc;.      Raoul,  csnor/ed /ji/  Lakoir  aille. 
T/ie  latter  Icnvvs  at  onre. 

KAouL,  to  Vautrin. — How   dare   you   lock    me   up   to 
prevent  me  from  fighting? 

THE  DUKE. — From  fighting  your  brother! 
RAOUL. — My  brother? 
THE  DUKE. — Your  brothcr. 


VAUTRIN  I.J  I 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREi.. — You  nVG  truly  my  son! 
Ladies,  {she  seizes  the  hand  of  Raoul)  here  is  Fernand 
(Ic  Montsorel,  my  son,  the — 

THE  DUKE,  intemipting  her. — The  son  that  was  kid- 
naped from  us  in  his  infancy ;  oiir  first-born —  Albert — 
is  now  only  the  Comte  de  Montsorel. 

RAOUL. — For  the  last  three  days,  it  has  seemed  as  if 
I  were  going  through  a  dream!  You,  my  mother! 
You,  my  father,  sir! 

THE  DUKE. — Yes,  it  is  so. 

RAOUL. — And  the  very  people  who  were  asking  after 
my  family — 

VAUTRIN. — Make  the  family  itself. 

RAOUL,  to  Vautrin. — And  have — had  you  anything 
to  do  with  it? 

VAUTRIN,  to  the  Duchess  of  Montsorel. — What  was  I 
telling  you?  [To  Raoul.)  Kindly  remember,  Monsieur 
le  Marquis,  that  I  absolve  you,  in  advance,  of  the  sin 
of  ingratitude.  {To  the  Duchess.)  The  son  will  forget 
me,  but  the  mother? 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MONTSOREL. — Never. 

THE  DUKE,  addressing  Vautrin. — But  what  were  the 
fatalities  that  plunged  you  into  the  abyss? 

VAUTRIN. — Are  fatalities  explainable? 

THE  DUCHESS  OK  MONTSOREL,  to  her  husbu/id. — My 
dear,  is  it  not  in  your  power  to  have  him  pardoned? 

THE  DUKE. — The  sentence  under  which  he  is  now 
cannot  be  revoked. 

VAUTRIN. — Those  words  reconcile  me  to  you.  Mon- 
sieur le  Due;  they  are  statesmanlike.  Only  try  and 
make  the  authorities  understand  that  exile  is  the  only 
sensible  penalty  for  men  like  me. 

RAOUL. — Monsieur — 


142  VAUTRIN 

\  AUTKiN. — You  are  mistaken,  I  am  not  even 
"monsieur. " 

iNES. — I  think  I  understand  that  you  are  an  exile 
and  that  my  friend  owes  you  a  great  deal,  a  great  deal 
more  than  he  will  ever  be  able  to  repay.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  I  possess  large  estates  that  need 
to  be  managed  by  a  man  of  uncommon  energy.  Will 
you  take  charge  of  them  and  again  become — 

VAUTRIN. — Become  a  rich  man,  under  a  new  name? 
Child,  have  you  not  learned  in  the  last  few  hours  that 
there  are  in  this  world  pitiless  situations?  Yes,  I  may 
acquire  another  fortune  but  who  will  give  me —  {To 
the  Duhc  of  Monlsnrel)  The  King  might  pardon  me, 
after  all,  but  who  will  take  my  hand? 

RAOUL. — I  will !  {He  steps  forward  itnd  talccs  Vaul.rin\'i 
hand  in  both  his  own.) 

VAUTRIN'. — Ah!  I  was  waiting  for  this  before  going. 
Raoul,  you  have  a  mother  now;  good-by! 


SCENE     XVII 

Thk    PkKCEDiNG.       A     Police    Captain.       Numkkous 

Officers  and  Servants.      All  the  windoioH  and 

doors  fire  thrown  open  siniultaneonsly 

and  policemen  rush  in. 

A  poLici.  captain,  to  thc  iJiike. — In  the  name  of  the 

King   and    of   the    law    I    arrest    Jacques    Collin,    an 

escaped —      {Ereri/bodi/    in     the    room    rushes    tjetween 

Villi trin  and  the  polirr  furre  toijioe  him  a  chance  to  escape.) 

I  HF.  DUKE. — Captain,  T  will  take  the  responsibility — 

VAUTKiN.  —  No,  Monsieur  le  Due;    in  y<mr  house  the 


VAUTRIN  143 

King's  power  must  not  be  resisted.  The  affair  is 
between  these  gentlemen  and  myself.  {To  the  Cap- 
tain.) I  will  follow  you.  {To  the  Duchess.)  Joseph 
sent  for  them.      He  is  one  of  us;  dismiss  him. 

RAOUL. — Are  we  to  be  separated  forever? 

VAUTRIN. — Within  a  month,  you  will  be  married. 
In  a  year,  the  day  of  the  christening,  as  you  enter  the 
church,  look  closely  at  the  beggars  by  the  gate.  I'll 
be  there  to  make  sure  of  your  happiness.  Good-by ! 
{To  the  police.)     And  now,  forward,  march! 

(Final  Curtain.) 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES 

A    COMEDV    IN     A     PROI.O(iUE    AND    FlVE    AcTS 


Presented  for  the  first  tune ^  on  Saturday^  March  i^, 

1842^  at  the  Royal  Theatre  of  the 

Odeon,  in  Paris. 


charactp:rs  in  the  prologue 

Philii'  II.,  King  of  Spain. 

Cardinal  Cienfukgos.  The  Orandlnqnisitor. 

The  Captain  ok  thk  (ti  ards. 

Thk  Duke  ok  Olmedo. 

The  Duke  ok  Lerma. 

Alkonso  Fontanares. 

LAVRAni,  alias  Quinola. 

A  Halberdier. 

An  Alcalde  ok  the  Palace. 

A  Familiar  ok  thk  Ini^'Uisition. 

The  Queen  ok  Spain. 

Thk  Marchkiness  of  Mondk.jar. 

CHARACTERS  IN  THK   PLAY 

Don  Freuoso,  Viceroy  of  Catalonia. 

The  (iranu-Inqi'isitok. 

Count  Sarpi,  Secretary  to  the  ViL-eroyalty  of  Catalonia. 

Don  Ra.mon,  a  learned  man. 

Avaloros,  a  banker. 

Mateo  Macis,  a  Lombard. 

LoTUNDiAZ,  a  rich  bourgeois  of  Barcelona. 

Alfonso  Fontanares. 

Lavradi,  alias  Quinola,  Fontanares'  valet. 

MoNiPODio,  a  retired  bandit. 

CopPOLUS,  a  dealer  in  metals. 

Carpano,  a  locksmith. 

EsTEBAN.  a  workman. 

(iiRONE,  another  workman. 

The  Ho.^t  ok  the  "Sol  D'Oro." 

A  Constable.     An  Alcalde. 

Faistina  Brancadori. 

Maria  Lotundiaz,  daughter  of  Lutuudiaz. 

Dona  Lopez,  duenna  to  Maria  Lotundiaz. 

I'aoliia,  maid  to  Faustina. 

Timt\   isSS-Sif 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES 


PROLOGUE 

(The  scenery  represenis  tlie  galJery  in  the  Spanish  king's  pal- 
ace, in  Vallaclolid,  that  leads  to  the  royal  chapel.  To  the  left,  the 
entrance  to  the  chapel;  to  the  right,  door  leading  to  the  roj/td 
apartments.  The  main  entrance  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  On 
each  side  of  this  door,  two  halberdiers.  As  the  curtain  rises,  are 
found  on  the  stage  the  Caj^tain  of  the  Guards  and  three  noblemen. 
An  Alcalde  of  the  palace  is  standing  at  the  end  of  the  gallery.  A 
few  courtiers  are  seen  walking  uj)  and  down  in  the  drawing-room 
that  precedes  the  gallery. ) 


SCENE  I 

The  Captain  of  the  Guards.     Quinola,   wrapped  vp 
in  a  large  mantle.     A  Halukrdier. 

THE  HALBERDIER,  he  stops  Quiuola  ut  the  maiu  door. — 
Nobody  enters  that  has  not  the  right.     Who  are  you? 

QUINOLA,  puslting  the  lialberd  aside. — An  Ambassador. 

THE  HALBERDIER, — Whcrefrom? 

QUINOLA,  ste^ypivg  further  into  the  room. — From  Mis- 
ery land. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  GUARDS.  —  "Fctch  me  the  majoT- 
domo  ot    the  palace    to    render  this   ambassador  the 

147 


148  QUINOLAS  Ri:SOURCKS 

honors  due  him.  {To  I  lie  hdWvrdicr.)  Three  clays  in 
the  lock-up. 

yuiNOLA,  to  the  Captain. — Is  that  the  way  you  respect 
international  law?  Listen,  my  lord;  you  are  very 
high,  and  I  am  very  low,  but  two  words  of  mine  will 
place  us  on  the  same  lev^el. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OK  THE  GUARDS. — You  are  i\  rathcr  funny 
rascal. 

QUiNOLA,  taking  him  aside. — Arc  you  not  a  cousin  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Mondejar? 

THE  CAPTAIN. — What  of  it? 

QUINOLA. — Although  in  g-reat  favor,  just  at  present, 
she  is  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss  wherein  she  will  fall 
minus — her  head. 

THE  CAPTAIN. — Thesc  people  are  all  telling  tall 
stories!  Why,  my  man,  it  is  only  the  tenth  of  the 
month  and  you  are  already  the  twenty-second  fellow 
who  uses  this  method  to  get  a  few  ducats  out  of  the 
Marchioness.      Leave  this  place  double  quick,  or — 

QUINOLA. — My  Lord,  never  mind  if  you  have  had  to 
listen  to  the  fibs  of  twenty-two  poor  devils;  to-day 
you  are  conversing  with  your  guardian  angel.  As 
you  see  {he  opens  his  mantle,  showing  his  rags  under- 
neath) I  have  almost  the  costume  of  the  p:irt. 

THE  CAPTAIN. — Givc  mc  a  sure  proof  that  you  have 
really  a  mission,  or — 

QUINOLA,  offeriyig  the  Captain  a  letter. — Here  it  is. 
Give  this  letter  yourself  to  the  Marchioness,  so  that 
the  secret  remains  between  us;  if  she  docs  not  faint 
on  the  spot,  I  give  you  leave  to  send  me  to  the  gibbet, 
for  which,  in  common  with  the  majority  of  Spaniards, 
I  profess  a  decided  aversion. 

THE  CAPiAiN. — And    suppose    anDllu-r    woman    had 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  149 

bought  your  life  of  you  in  exchange  for  that  of  a 
hated  rival? 

QuiNOLA. — Would  I  be  here  in  rags!  Why,  my  life 
is  worth  Caesar's!  Now,  look,  my  Lord,  {He  opejin 
the  letter  and  inliales  deeply  the  scent  from  the  sheet;  then 
folds  back  the  missive  and  returns  it  to  the  Captain.) 
You  see,  no  trick,  no  danger.     Are  you  satisfied? 

THE  CAPTAIN,  aside. — I  have  time  enough  yet  before 
the  King's  arrival.  I'll  risk  it.  {To  Quinola.)  I'll 
go.     Wait. 


SCENE    II 

QUINOLA,  alone  at  tJte  front  of  the  stage,  looking  at  the 
departing  Captain. — You  just  go  ahead!  Oh,  my  dear 
master,  if  you  have  not  had  your  bones  broken  on  the 
rack  in  the  jail  of  the  Holy  Office,  you  will  soon  be  out 
of  your  cell,  thanks  to  your  poor,  devoted  dog  of  a 
Quinola!  Poor — who  said  poor?  When  my  master 
is  a  free  man  again,  he  will  turn  our  hopes  into  gold! 
When  one  has  managed  for  six  months  in  Valladolid 
without  a  maravedi  and  yet  kept  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  alguazils,  one  must  possess  a  few  talents,  which, 
employed  to  better  purpose,  might  lead  a  man  tip  to — 
Never  mind  where!  If  we  knew  to  what  goal  we  were 
hurrying,  we  might  stop  short  in  a  dead  funk.  In  a 
few  minutes,  I  shall  be  speaking  to  the  King!  I, 
Quinola!  Oh,  Lord  in  heaven,  so  merciful  to  the 
unfortunates,  grant  me  the  eloquence,  of— of — of  a 
beautiful  woman,  of  the  jMarchioness  of  Mondejar — 


•  5°  QUINOLAS   RESOURCES 


SCENE    Tir 


QUINOLA.         Tm     CaPI  AIN    Of   THK  GuARDS. 

THK  CAPTAIN,  to  QuiHohi. — Hcrc  are  fifty  ducats  the 
Marchioness  sends  you  to  get  you  an  outfit  that  will 
allow  you  to  appear  in  the  palace. 

Q\JiiiOL\,jjoiiri)i(/  t fie  gold  pieces  from  one  hand  into  the 
other. — Ah,  this  ray  of  sun  was  long  cominj^-!  I'll  be 
back  in  a  trice.  Your  Lordship,  as  brilliantly  attired  as 
the  Jack  of  Hearts,  whose  name  I  have  borrowed  for 
the  time  being.  Yes,  your  servant,  Ouinola,  Ouinola 
soon  to  be  the  lord  of  vast  domains,  in  which  he  will 
have  the  powers  of  a  magistrate.  {.iside.)  Luclcy 
enough,  in  the  meantime,  if  he  escapes  the  local  police! 
{Exit  Qinnola.) 


SCENE    IV 

The  Courtii.ks.     The  Captain  ok  the  Guakhs, 

THE  CAPTAi.vr.  ahine,  front  of  the  stui/e. — What  secret 
may  this  wretch  have  surprised?  My  cousin  almost 
swooned  away.  All  her  friends  are  in  danger,  she 
said.  The  King  is  surely  mixed  up  in  this  affair,  {'/'a 
one  of  the  courtiers,  the  Ihi/ce  oj  Lernm.)  Is  there  any- 
thing new  in  Valladolid? 

Tin;  OuKi.  OF  i.KkMA,  iH  u  loin  voice. — They  say  that 
the  Duke  of  Olmedo  was  murderously  beset  at  three 
(/clock  in  the  morning,  a  few  steps  from  the  garden 
of  the  Mondejar  mansion. 

THE  CAPTAi.v.  —  It    Would    be    iust    likr    him    to   have 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  15 1 

himself  waylaid  on  such  a  spot,  to  ruin  m}'  cousin  in 
the  King-'s  mind.  Like  all  great  statesmen,  His 
Majesty  holds  for  proven  everything  that  is  plausible. 

THK  DUKE  OF  LERMA. — People  whis])er  that  the 
enmity  of  the  Duke  and  the  Marchioness  is  but  a  pre- 
tense and  that  the  assassin  will  not  be  hunted  down. 

THE  CAPTAIN. — Duke,  sucli  talk  must  not  be  repeated 
without  actual  proof  behind  it ;  otherwise  my  sword 
will  call  for  the  tale-bearer's  blood. 

THE  DUKE  OF  ler:\ia. — Well,  you  know,  you  asked 
me  for  the  news —  The  Duke  withdraws  further  into 
the  gallery.) 


sc?:ne  V 

The   Preceding.      Thk    Marchioness   of    Mondejar. 

THE  CAPTAIN. — Ah,  here  is  my  cousin!  {To  the 
Ilarchioness.)  Dear  Marchioness,  how  agitated  you 
still  are!  If  you  have  any  regard  for  our  safety, 
restrain  yourself.     You  are  observed! 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — Has  this  mail  returned? 

THE  CAPTAIN. — How  Can  a  wretch  of  that  sort  cause 
you  such  anxiety? 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — He  holds  m)''  life  in  his  hands, 
and  not  only  mine  but  that  of  some  one  else,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  closest  precautions,  has  excited  the  jeal- 
ousy— 

THE  CAPTAIN. — Of  the  King!  It  is  true,  then,  that 
he  ordered  the  Duke  of  Olmedo  to  be  mtirdered  last 
night?     The}"  whisper  it  about  already. 

THK  MARCHioNKss. — Alas !     I   do   not   know   what   to 


'52  QUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

think —     Here  I  am  alone,  without  chance  of  succor — 
soon  deserted. 

THE  CAPTAIN. — No,  cousiu,  HOt  (Icscrted,  You  may 
count  upon  me.  I  shall  keep,  day  and  night,  on  the 
look-out  among  your  enemies. 


SCENE    VI 

The    PkRCF.niNr;.      QuTNOl.A. 

QuiNoi,  \,  in  himsrlf. — I  have  only  thirty  ducats  left, 
but  I  look  as  if  I  had  spent  sixty —  Ami  don't  I  smell 
lovely!  Oh,  the  Marchioness  can  now  speak  to  me 
without — 

THE  >rARCHioNEss,  j;oi;eYt«^  out  Qu inula  to  her  cousin. 
— Is  this  the  fellow? 

THE  CAPTAIN. It  is. 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — Cousiii,  will  you  kindly  see  to  it 
that  we  are  not  interrupted  and  that  nobody  gets  close 
enough  to  listen.  [To  Quinola.)  My  friend,  who  are 
you  ? 

QUINOLA,  aside. — Her  friend!  As  long  as  you  hold  a 
woman's  secret,  you  are  her  friend.  {Ahud.) 
Madame,  I  am  a  man  above  all  considerations  and  all 
circumstances. 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — That  may  bring  one  high  up. 

QUINOLA. — Is  this  a  threat  or  a  piece  of  advice? 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — My  man,  you  are  impertinent. 

QUINOLA. — Oh!  Do  not  take  my  intelligence  for 
im]iertinence.  If  you  want  to  know  more  about  mc 
before  coming  to  the  matter  in  cpiestion,  here  is  my 
whole  history.      My  real  name  is  Lavradi  and   Lavradi 


OUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  I53 

ought  to  be  locked  up  for  the  next  ten  years  in  the 
African  prison.  But  Quinola  is  the  conscience  of 
Lavradi,  a  conscience  as  pure  white  as  your  beautiful 
hands.  Quinola  keeps  no  acquaintance  with  Lavradi. 
The  soul  knows  not  the  body.  Now,  you,  Madame, 
might  easily  cause  Quinola — the  soul — to  join  Lavradi 
— the  body;  for  this  morning,  Quinola  happened 
to  be  close  to  the  small  gate  of  your  garden,  with 
those  friends  of  the  rosy  dawn  who  waylaid  the  Duke 
of  Olmedo — 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — What  happened  to  him? 

QUINOLA. — Lavradi  might  answer  this  ingenuous 
question  by  asking  for  his  pardon,  but  Quinola,  who  is 
a  gentleman — 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — You  are  speaking  a  great  deal 
too  much  of  yourself — 

QUINOLA. — And  not  enough  of  him —  You  are  right. 
Well,  the  Duke  took  us  for  plain,  every-day  cut-throats, 
when,  in  truth,  we  simply  were  demanding  at  the 
point  of  our  swords  a  small,  much-needed  loan.  The 
famous  Majoral,  our  leader,  pressed  hard  by  the  Duke 
had  to  disable  him  by  a  secret  thrust  of  his  own — 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — Lord  in  heaven! 

QUINOLA. — Happiness  is  worth  a  little  thing  like  that. 

THE  MARCHIONESS,  aslch. — Tliis  man  knows  my  secret. 

QUINOLA. — When  we  discovered  that  the  Duke  did 
not  have  a  maravedi  on  his  person — most  absurd  on 
his  part — we  left  him,  or  rather  the  others  decamped, 
leaving  me  as  the  least  compromised  one  in  the  party, 
to  take  him  to  a  spot  near  his  own  palace.  While  put- 
ting his  pockets  straight,  I  picked  up  a  note  you  had 
written  him,  and,  being  informed  of  your  position  at 
court,  I  understood  that — 


154  gUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

THK  MARCHMNESS. — That  youi"  fortune  was  made? 
QUINOLA, — No;  that  my  life  was  in  danger. 

THE  MAKCHIONKSS. Well? 

QUiNoi-A. — Have  you  not  guessed  that  your  letter  is 
in  the  hands  of  a  trusted  friend  of  mine,  who,  in  case 
the  least  harm  comes  to  me,  will  send  it  to  tlic  King? 
Is  this  clear  enough? 

THK  MAkCHioNKSs. — Well,  what   do  yr)ii  want  of  me? 

(^>uiNOLA. — To  whom  are  you  speaking'  To  (Juinola 
or  to  Lavradi? 

THK  MAkCMioNEss. — Lavradi  will  bc  pardoned.  What 
does  Quinola  wish?     To  enter  my  scivicc? 

QUiN'OLA. — Foundlings  are  all  presumed  to  bc  of  gen- 
tle blood.  Therefore,  Quinola  will  return  the  letter 
to  you  without  claiming  one  maravedi,  without  asking 
you  for  anytliing  beneath  you;  he  dares  hope,  how- 
ever, that  you  will  respect  the  life  of  the  poor  devil 
who  carries  under  his  beggar's  wallet  the  heart  of  Cid 
Campeadorl 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — You  scamp,  .  how  expensive 
you're  going  to  be! 

QUiNoi-A. — A  few  minutes  ago,  you  said,  "My 
friend." 

Tur,  MAKCHIONKSS. — Wcrc  you  not  my  enemy  then? 

QUiNOLA. — Those  words  give  me  full  confidence  in 
you,  jMadame;  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  I 
want.      Please  don't  make  fun  of  a  poor  fellow  who — 

THE  MAKCHIOM.SS. — Out  with  it! 

QUINOLA, — I  want — I  wish  to  speak  to  the  King — in 
a  few  minutes,  when  he  will  pass  through  this  gallery 
on  his  way  to  chapel —  And  I  beg  you  to  .show  your- 
self favorable  to  my  request! 

THE  MAKCHIONKSS. — Rut  what  will  thls  recjuest  bc? 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  15S 

QUiNOLA. — The  simplest  in  the  world.  1  shall  beg 
for  an  audience  for  my  master. 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — Explain  yourself;  the  time  is 
short. 

QUINOLA. —  Madame,  I  am  the  servant  of  a  scholar; 
and  if  poverty  is  the  mark  of  genius,  we  must  have 
genius  to  sell. 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — To  the  questiou,  please. 

QUINOLA. — Sefior  Don  Alfonso  Fontanares  came 
here  from  Barcelona  to  offer  the  King,  his  master,  the 
scepter  of  the  seas.  In  Barcelona,  they  thought  him 
insane,  here  they  said  he  was  a  sorcerer.  When 
people  were  told  what  his  project  was  they  made  fun 
of  him  in  the  public  offices.  One  day  a  man  would 
offer  to  protect  him,  so  as  to  insure  his  ruin;  the  next 
day,  another  man  would  make  light  of  the  value  of  his 
discovery  so  as  to  get  the  secret  out  of  him.  Another, 
again,  would  offer  to  take  a  money  interest  in  the 
affair,  simply  to  despoil  him  of  his  rights.  The  way 
things  went  we  soon  found  ourselves  stranded. 
Nobody  dares  deny  the  truth  of  mechanics  and  of 
geometry,  but  axioms  and  theorems  are  poor  feeders 
and  the  tiniest  rabbit-stew  is  healthier  for  the  empty 
stomach.  It's  one  of  the  serious  defects  of  science. 
Last  winter,  my  master  and  I  had  to  heat  ourselves 
with  our  schemes  and  to  chew,  the  cud  of  our  illusions. 
Well,  Madame,  to  make  the  story  short,  he  is  now  in 
prison,  accused  of  being  too  close  a  friend  to  his  high- 
ness, the  devil.  This  time  the  Holy  Office  seems  to 
have  struck  it  right,  for  his  highness  did  lodge  in  our 
purse  month  in,  month  out,  for  a  year  or  so.  Now, 
Madame,  I  beseech  you,  inspire  the  King  with  the 
curiosity  of  seeing  a  man  VN^ho  brings  to  him  a  domain 


I5^»  QUINOLAS    RESOURCES 

as  wide  in  extent  as  thut  wliich  Columbus  bestowed 
upon  Spain. 

THK  MARCHIONESS. — Oil,  siuce  Colunibus  gave  the 
New  World  to  Spain,  we  are  offered  another  one  every 
week ! 

QUiNoi.A. — Ah,  Madame,  each  man  of  genius  has  liis 
own  world!  But  it's  rare  enough  to  see  a  man  ready 
to  make  his  country's  fortune  as  well  as  his  own! 
Such  an  exception  deserves  protection ! 

THK  MARCHIONESS. — What  docs  hc  ofTer? 

QUINOI.A. — Once  more,  Madame,  please,  do  not  make 
fun  of  mc —  He  offers  to  make  vessels  go  without 
sails,  without  oars,  against  wind  and  tide,  and  all  by 
means  of  a  huge  kettleful  of  boiling  water. 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — What  nonscusc  do  you  dare 
utter  in  my  presence?     Are  you  dreaming? 

QUiNOLA. — Just  what  they  all  sing  into  our  ears! 
Yes,  the  common  herd  is  so  constituted  that  the  man 
of  genius  who  is  fifty  years  ahead  of  anv  one  else  is 
thought  insane,  or  worse,  his  whole  life  long,  i,  I  am 
the  only  one  who  believes  in  him  and  tliat's  because 
I   love  him:  to  understand  is  to  equal. 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — And  you  want  nie  to  repeat  such 
silly  stuff  to  the  King? 

QUINOLA. — Madame,  you  are  the  only  person  in  all 
Spain  to  whom  the  King  will  not  say:  Be  silent! 

THE  MARCHIONESS. — You  do  not  kuow  the  King,  as  I 
do.  (Aside.)  I  must  have  my  letter  back.  (Alojid.) 
There  is  one  circumstance  in  your  favor,  though. 
They  have  just  informed  His  Majesty  of  the  loss  of 
the  Armada!  So,  stay  hero  and  you  shall  speak  to 
him  as  he  passes  this  way.      (Kn'f  the  Mdnhionesa.) 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  157 


SCENE    VII 

The  Captain  of  the  Guards.     The  Couktiers. 

QUINOLA. 

QVi-NOL  A,  f ran  I  of  the  sIcKje,  s^ycahinri  to  lunisclf. — So, 
genius  and  the  talent  to  use  it  to  some  purpose  are  not 
sufficient;  luck  is  needed  besides;  such  luck  as  brings 
into  my  hands  a  letter  endangering  the  fate  of  the 
royal  favorite,  or  a  disaster  such  as  the  destruction  of 
the  greatest  of  fleets  ever  assembled.  Those  things 
must  happen  for  one  to  secure  a  hearing  from  the 
sovereign.  Ah,  luck  is  a  deep  rascal!  Now  then,  in 
this  duel  between  Fontanares  and  his  time,  here  is  the 
moment  for  his  poor  second  to  distinguish  himself! 
{Bells  begin  to  ring;  the  command  of  ^'•Present  armsP''  is 
heard  in  the  halls.)  Is  this  an  omen  of  success?  (To 
the  Captain  of  the  Guards.)  How  does  one  address  the 
King? 

THE  captain. — You  Step  forward,  bend  one  knee, 
and  say:  "Sire!"  And  may  God  help  your  tongue! 
(The  head  of  the  royal  cortege  ajjpears.) 

QUINOLA. — I'll  have  no  trouble  bending  a  knee;  they 
are  both  weak  enough  now;  for  it  is  not  a  man  I  am 
^o  meet — it  is  a  world ! 

a  page. — The  King! 

another  page. — The  Queen! 


1S8  OUINOLA  S   RESOURCES 


SCENE    VIII 

Thk    Prkci :i)in<..        'Phi.    Quk.en.        The    King.       Thf. 
Makchiunkss  oiMoNDr.jAK.      Thk  Gkand- 

IXQUISITOK.       TllK.  WhOLK  CoURI. 

r'HUjr  II. — Gentlemen,  let  tis  pray  to  the  Almighty 
Lord  God,  whose  pleasure  it  has  been  to  strike  Spain 
a  terrible  blow.  The  Armada  is  lost,  but,  {tiiruiiifj 
inward  the  Chief  Ailmiral)  we  bear  you  nc)  ill-will, 
Admiral;  it  was  not  in  your  power  to  conquer  the 
elements. 

QUiNOi-A,  o)ic  knee  on  the  JJoor. — Sire! 

PHILIP  II. — Who  are  you? 

QUiNOLA. — The  humblest  and  most  devoted  of  your 
subjects,  the  servant  of  a  man  who  is  now  moaning 
in  the  prison  of  the  Holy  Office,  accused  of  black  magic, 
because  he  claims  he  can  j^^ive  Your  Majesty  the  means 
of  ever  avoidin^^  such  disasters — 

PHILIP  II. — If  you  are  but  a  servant,  you  may  rise;  it 
behooves  only  the  great  to  thus  kneel  before  the  King. 

nuiNOLA. — Then  my  master's  place  is  on  his  knees 
before  Your  Majesty. 

PHILIP  II. — Make  your  explanation  short;  the  King 
has  not  as  many  moments  in  his  life  as  he  has  sub- 
jects. 

QUiNOLA. — He  may  give  one  hour  to  a  whole  empire. 
My  master,  Scnor  Alfonso  Fontanarcs  is  in  the  prison 
of  the  Holy  Office— 

PHILIP  II,  to  Ihr  (,'}(iiid-J/ujui.'<iiur.  —Fiiiber,  (The 
(Irnnd-Inqviaitur  line  runits  nearer.)  what  do  you  know 
of  a  certain  Alfonso  Fontanares? 

THK.  CRAND-iNijuisiTOK. — He  is  onc  of  thc   followers 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  159 

of  Galileo;  he  professes  a  condemned  doctrine  and 
claims  to  be  able  to  accomplish  marvels,  refusing  at 
the  same  time  to  explain  his  methods.  He  is  believed 
to  be,  by  birth,  more  of  a  Moor  than  of  a  Spaniard. 

QUiNOLA,  aside. — This  bloodless  face  is  going  to  spoil 
everything,  {To  the  King.)  Sire,  my  master  is  not  a 
sorcerer,  but  he  is  deeply  in  love,  first  with  Your 
Majesty's  glory  and  then  v/ith  a  young  girl,  the  only 
child  and  heiress  of  Sefior  Lotundiaz,  the  richest 
citizen  of  Barcelona.  As  he  gathered  more  knowledge 
than  ducats  while  studying  science  in  Italy,  he  soon 
found  out  that  the  yoimg  lady  could  not  be  his  unless 
he  conquered  both  fame  and  fortune.  And  now  hear. 
Sire,  how  great  men  may  be  slandered.  In  his  despair 
he  went  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of 
Pilar,  to  pray  for  Her  protection ;  his  beloved's  name 
is  also  Maria.  As  he  left  the  church,  overcome  by  the 
fatigue  of  his  long  journey  on  foot,  he  went  to  sleep 
under  a  tree.  Then  and  there  the  Holy  Mother 
appeared  to  him,  in  a  dream,  and  ordered  him  to 
invent,  with  her  assistance,  a  ship  that  would  go  with- 
out sails  or  oars  and  against  wind  and  tide.  Thus 
encouraged  from  heaven,  my  master  studied  and 
studied  indefatigably  until  his  invention  was  com- 
plete. But,  when  he  came  here  to  offer  it  to  Your 
Majesty,  clouds  gathered  between  him  and  the  Royal 
Sun,  and  now  his  struggle  to  overcome  them  and  to 
obey  Our  Lady  of  Pilar  for  Your  Majesty's  greatest 
glory,  has  brought  him  to  an  ignominious  cell.  All 
he  has  left  is  this,  his  poor  servant,  who  is  here 
to-day,  in  his  name,  to  lay  at  Your  Majesty's  feet  the 
information  that  a  means  does  exist  to  secure  uni- 
versal domination  for  the  Crown  of  Spain. 


l6o  gUINOLAS  RESOURCES 

puiLir  II. — I  will  see  your  master  at  the  close  of  the 
chapel  service. 

THE  GRAND-iNQUisiTOu. — May  not  the  King  run  some 
clanger? 

PHILIP  II. — It  is  my  duty  to  question  that  man. 

THE  GRAXD-iNX>uisiTOR, — It  is  my  (luty  to  see  that 
the  privileges  of  the  Holy  Office  are  respected. 

PHILIP  II. — I  know  their  extent.  Obey  and  be 
silent.  I  owe  you  a  hostage  but —  {He  looks  around.) 
Where  is  the  Duke  of  Olmedo? 

QUiNoLA,  aside. — Things  are  getting  hot! 

THE  MARCHIONESS,  aside. — We  are  lost! 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  GUARDS. — Sirc,  the  Duke  has 
not  yet — arrived. 

PHILIP  II. — What  has  made  him  bold  enough  to  neglect 
the  duties  of  his  office?  {Aside.)  Is  some  one  deceiv- 
ing me?  {To  the  Captain  of  the  Guards.)  If  he  come, 
tell  him  that  the  King  has  placed  him  in  charge  of  a 
Holy  Office  prisoner.  {To  the  (Jrand-Inr/uisifor.) 
Give  the  necessary  orders. 

THE  GRAND-iNguisiToR. — Sire,  I  will  go  myself. 

THE  QUEEN. — And  should  the  Duke  fail  to  come? 

THE  KINO. — Then  he  must  be  dead.  {To  f/ic  Captain 
of  the  (luards.)  In  that  case  you  shall  take  his  place  for 
the  execution  of  this  order.      {He  enters  the  chapel.) 

THE  .MARCHio.Ni  ss,  remaiuiuy  behind  for  an  instant.,  she 
manages  to  speak  to  Quinola  without  being  overheard. — 
Run  to  the  Duke  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  tell  him  he 
must  come  here  and  behave  as  if  he  were  not  on  the 
point  of  death.     This  slander  must  be  refuted. 

QUiMii.A. — Count  on  me,  but  do  not  fail  to  protect 
us.  {He  is  left  alone.)  Sangodemi!  Didn't  the  King 
seem  charmed  by  my  story  about  Our   Lady  of  Pilar! 


gUINOLAS  RESOURCES  i6i 

I  ought  to  pledge  myself  to  bring  to  Her  altar — what? 
Oh,  I'll  decide  after  we  have  succeeded.  {Exit 
Quinola.) 

(Curtain  on  Tableau.) 


SECOND   TABLEAU 
{The  stage  re  presents  a  cell  in  the  prison  of  the  Inquisition.) 

SCENE   IX 

FONT  AN  ARES,  oloue. — I  Understand  now  why  Colum- 
bus wanted  chains  to  be  placed  by  his  side  in  his 
coffin.  What  a  lesson  for  investigators !  A  great  dis- 
covery is  a  part  of  Truth !  But  Truth  ruins  so  many 
abuses  and  errors,  that  the  people  who  make  their 
living  out  of  these  rise  in  their  wrath  and  rush  to  kill 
Truth;  and,  to  begin  with,  they  attack  Truth's  cham- 
pions. Ah,  the  innovators  must  possess  unconquerable 
patience,  and,  God  be  praised,  I  have  that!  But  its 
source  is  in  my  love —  Yes,  to  obtain  Maria,  I  dream 
of  fame,  and  again  and  again  I  see —  {He  seems 
absorbed  in  a  vision.)  I  see  a  bit  of  straw  flying  above 
an  open  kettle!  Everybody  has  noticed  that,  since 
there  have  been  kettles  and  straw.  But,  I  think  I 
discover  in  it  a  force ;  to  measure  it  I  close  the  boiling 
kettle  tight.  It  explodes  but  does  not  kill  me. 
Archimedes  and  I,  we  are  one  in  this:  he  said  that 
with  a  lever  he  could  rai.se  the  world,  and  this  lever  I 
hold  now  in  my  hands.     The  more  fool  I  was  to  ever 


i6i  griNoLAS  RESOURCES 

speak  ulii:  It  brought  me  nothing- but  misfortunes! 
Should  I  die  now,  O  man  of  genius  of  the  future,  take 
a  lesson  from  my  example :  act, but  be  silent !  The  lipht 
we  bring  out,  they  use  to  fire  our  funeral  pile,  Galileo, 
my  teacher,  is  now  in  prison  for  having  said  that  the 
earth  turns,  and  I  am  here  for  giving  it  a  new  moving 
power!  I  understand  now  why  I  am  a  rebel  in  the 
avaricious  minds  of  those  who  want  to  steal  my  secret. 
Did  I  not  love  Maria,  I  could  leave  this  place  to-night, 
abandoning  to  my  enemies  the  profits  of  my  invention 
and  satisfying  myself  with  the  glory—  O  hell  and 
damnation!  [He  Imighs  aloud  at  his  own  excitement, 
then  adds  more  qiiiptly.)  This  rage  is  childish;  I  can 
afford  to  be  calm  since  I  am  powerful.  If  only  I  had 
news  from  the  only  being  who  believes  in  me!  Is 
even  he  free,  who  begged  in  the  streets  that  I  should 
not  starve? — Ah,  faith  is  the  boon  of  the  poor;  they 
need  it  so  badly! 


SCENE     X 
Thv    C)kA.N'i)-lN(juisiTOK.       A   Familiar  of  the   Holv 

Ok  net.        FoNTANAkES. 

THK  (iKAND-iNyuisiTOR. — My  SOU,  I  heard  you  just 
now  speaking  of  faith —  Perhaps  you  are,  at  last, 
indulging  in  wise  meditations.  Come,  spare  the  Holy 
Office  the  grief  of  resorting  to  severe  measures. 

FONTANAKES. — Father,  what  do  you  wish  me  to  say? 

THE  OK  \nd-in(^uisit<ju.  —  BefoTC  giving  you  your  free- 
dom, the  Holy  Oftice  must  be  satisfied  that  you  are 
using  only  natural  and  proper  methods  in  your 
scientific  labors. 


gUINOLA'S  RliSO'JI<Cl-:S  163 

FONT  ANA  RES. — But,  father,  if  the  Evil  One  were  in 
league   with  me,    would  he  leave  me  in   this   place? 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — Your  words  ate  impious. 
Has  not  the  Devil  a  Master?  Have  we  not  proved  it 
by  the  burning  of  heretics? 

FONT  AN  ARES. — Did  you  cvcT  see  a  vessel  on  the  sea? 
{The  Grand- Inquisitor  nods  affirmatively.)  What  made 
it  go? 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — The  wind  filled  its  sails. 

FONTANARES. — And  was  it  the  Devil  who  taught  the 
first  navigator  how  to  use  the  wind? 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — Do  vou  kuow  what  becamc 
of  him? 

FONTANARES. — Perhaps  he  rose  to  be  some  great 
mariner  now  forgotten  by  mankind —  But  my  means 
is  as  natural  as  his;  in  nature  I  have  discovered  a 
latent  force  which  man  may  make  his  own.  The  wind 
is  God's;  never  can  man  control  it  completely.  My 
force  is  within  the  vessel,  and  wind  cannot  triumph 
over  it. 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR,  oside. — This  is  a  most  danger- 
ous man!  {Aloud.)  And  you  refuse  to  tell  us  of  what 
this  force  of  yours  consists? 

FONTANARES. — I  will  tell  my  tale  to  the  King,  in 
the  presence  of  the  whole  court;  then  nobody  shall 
have  a  chance  to  despoil  me  of  my  fortune,  of  my 
fame. 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — You  Call  youTself  an  inven- 
tor, and  you  think  only  of  your  fortune!  You  are 
more  a  man  of  ambition  than  of  genius ! 

FONTANARES. — Father,  T  am  so  deeply  irritated 
against  the  envious  persecutions  of  the  common  herd, 
the  cupidity  of  the  great  and  the  mean  conduct  of  the 


i64  QUINOLA  S  RESOURCES 

so-called  learned  crowd,  that  if  I  did  not  love  my 
Maria  so  deeply,  I  would  give  back  to  chance  what 
chance  gave  me ! 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. ChanCC  ! 

FONTANARES. — I  Stand  correctcd,  father.  I  would 
return  to  God  the  thought  I  received  from  Him. 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — God  did  not  blcss  you  with 
it  in  order  that  you  should  conceal  it.  We  have  the 
right  to  make  you  speak.  {To  /a'.s  Familiar.)  Have 
the  rack  prepared. 

FONTANARES. — I  was  cxpectiug  this. 


SCENE    XI 

The  Grand-Inquisitor.     Fontanares.     The  Duke  ov 
Olmedo.     Quinola. 

QUINOLA. — The  rack?     Why  that's  hardly  healthy. 

FONTANARES. — Quinola  here!  And  in  what  a  cos- 
tume! 

QUINOLA. — That  of  success.  In  a  moment,  you  will 
be  a  free  man. 

FONTANARES. — A  f rcc  man  I  What!  Pass  in  a  min- 
ute from  hell  to  heaven! 

THE  DUKE  OF  OLMEDO. — The  fate  of  martyrs. 

the  GRAND-iNQUisiTOR. — How  do  you  darc  utter  such 
words  here,  sir? 

THE  DUKE  OF  OLMEDO. — I  am  Commissioned  by  the 
King  to  withdraw  this  man  from  your  hands,  and  I 
answer  for  him. 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — What  a    grievous  mistake! 

QUINOLA. — Ah,  I  see,  you  wanted  to  set  him  stewing 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  165 

in  one  of  your  caldrons  of  boiling  oil.  Thanks  awfully ! 
But  his  boilers  will  carry  us  around  the  world  as  quick 
as  that —  [He  2JCisses  his  finger  around  the  brim  of  his 
large  felt  hat.) 

FONTANAREs. — Now  embrace  me,  my  dear  Quinola, 
and  tell  me  how — 

THE  DUKE  OF  OLMEDo. — Not  a  word  hcrc ! 

QUiNOLA. — I  understand —  {He  2)oints  to  the  retreat- 
ing Grand- Inquisitor .)  Walls  here  are  much  too  intel- 
ligent! Come  along,  now.  And  you,  Monsieur  le 
Due,  be  of  good  cheer.  You  are  somewhat  pale ;  but 
I'll  have  no  trouble  in  bringing  back  color  to  your 
cheeks. 

(Curtain  on  Tableau.) 


THIRD    TABLEAU 
{Again  the  stage  represents  the  palace  gallery.) 

SCENE   XII 
The  Duke  of  Olmedo.     The  Duke  of  Lerma. 

FoNTANARES.         QuiNOLA. 

THE  duke  OF  OLMEDO. — We  arrive  in  good  time! 

THE  duke  of  lerma. — You  are  not  wounded,  then? 

THE  duke  of  olmedo. — Who  could  have  invented 
such  a  story?  Oh,  I  understand — the  favorite  has 
sworn   to   ruin    me!      Would    I    be   here   if    I    were 


i66  oriNOLA'S  RESOURCKS 

wounded?  {Low  lo  (Jjiinohi.)  Keep  close  to  support 
me. 

QUiNOLA,  to  Fontamire.'i.  —  I  K-re  is  a  man  worthy  to  be 
loved. 

FONTANARiis. — Who  would  not  envy  him?  It  is  not 
everybody  who  has  a  chance  to  give  a  signal  proof  of 
his  devotion. 

QUINOLA. — Oh,  please,  sir,  stop  all  this  love  nonsense 
in  the  presence  of  the  King,  for  the  King,  you  know — 

A  PAGE. — The  King! 

FONTANARKs. — Then  I'll  think  of  Maria. 

yuiNOLA,  seeing  the  Duke  of  Olmcdo  about  to  faint. — 
What's  the  matter?  Here —  {Ife  makes  hint  inhale 
some  salts.) 


SCENE    XIII 

Till.  Preceding.  Thi;  King.  The  Oueen.  The 
Marchionkss  ok  Mondkjar.  The  Captain  of  the 
Guards.  The  Grand-Inquisitor.  The  President 
OF  THE  Council  of  Castile.     The  Whole  Court. 

PHILIP  II,  to  the  Captain  of  the  Guards. — Has  our  man 
come. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OK  THE  GUARDS. Thc    Dukc  of   Olmcdo, 

whom  I  met  at  the  bottom  of  the  palace  stairs,  has- 
tened to  fulfill  the  orders  of  the  King. 

THE  DUKE  OK  oLMi.uo,  oite  kui'e  ou  thi'  jhiof. — Will  the 
King  forgive  a  delay  for  which  I  do  not  forgive 
myself? 

PHILIP  II,  raisiny  him  lnj  his  wounded  arm. — They  were 
saying  you  were  dying  from  a  wound  (Looking  at  the 
Marchioness.)  received  last  night? 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  167 

THE   DUKK   OF   (H.MEDO. YoU  SLC   VAC  licrc,    SirC. 

THE  MARCHIONESS,  /()  Jid'seJ/. — Hc  lias  rouged  his 
cheeks ! 

PHILIP  n,  to  the  Duke. — Where  is  your  prisoner? 

THE  DUKE  OF  OLMED(\  j)oi)iti>if/  to  Fontnuarcs. — Here 
he  is,  Your  Majesty. 

FONTANARKS,  0)16  Icucc  0)1  the  jlooY  l)efore  the  Kiwj. — To 
the  greatest  glory  of  God  and  to  add  to  the  splendor  of 
the  reign  of  the  King,  my  master,  I  am  ready  to 
accomplish  wonders. 

PHILIP  II. — Rise  and  speak.  In  what  consists  this 
miraculous  force  which  is  to  give  to  Spain  the  empire 
of  the  world? 

FONT  AN  ARES. — An  iuvincible  force,  Your  Majesty. 
The  force  that  comes  from  steam.  When  transformed 
into  steam,  water  demands  a  much  larger  space  and, 
to  secure  it,  would  lift  up  mountains.  My  invention 
encloses  this  force :  the  machine  built  to  contain  it  is 
provided  with  outside  wheels,  and  the  paddles  on  these 
wheels,  as  they  whip  the  surface  of  the  sea,  render  the 
ship  that  carries  them  as  swift  as  the  wind  and  capable 
of  fighting  the  storms.  Voyages  thus  will  become 
rapid  and  safe,  for  the  speed  of  the  ship  has  no  other 
limit  than  the  size  and  working  of  the  wheels.  Human 
life  is  lengthened  by  all  the  time  gained.  Sire, 
Christopher  Columbus  gave  you  a  world  three  thou- 
sand leagues  away  from  here:  I  place  it  almost  at  the 
gates  of  Cadiz.  Then,  indeed,  will  the  empire  of  the 
sea  be  yours. 

THE  QUEEN. — Are  you  not  amazed,  sire? 

vHiLiP  II. — Amazement  is  a  form  of  involuntary 
praise  that  it  does  not  behoove  a  King  to  manifest, 
{To  Fo)itnvar €■•<.)     What  do  you  ask  of  me? 


i68  QUINOLAS  RESOURCES 

KONTANARES. — Just  what  ColuiTibus  askcd  of  your 
ancestor — a  ship,  and  my  King  as  the  witness  of  my 
triumph. 

PHILIP  II. — As  witnesses,  if  you  succeed,  you  shall 
have  the  King,  vSpain,  the  whole  world.  They  say  you 
are  in  love  with  a  girl  of  Barcelona.  I  propose  shortly 
to  visit  my  possessions  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Pyrenees ;  you  shall  be  given  a  ship  in  Barcelona  har- 
bor; on  my  return  I  will  inspect  it. 

KONTANARES. — Sirc,  by  granting  me  a  ship,  you  are 
doing  me  an  act  of  justice;  by  granting  it  to  me  in 
Barcelona,  you  do  mc  a  favor  that  transforms  me  from 
a  faithful  subject  into  a  slave. 

PFiiLiP  II. — Remember  now,  to  lose  a  royal  ship  is  to 
place  your  head  under  forfeiture.     It  is  the  law. 

KONTANARES. — I  kuow  it  and  I  accept  the  risk. 

I'HiLip  n. — Well  then,  bold  young  man,  if  you  suc- 
ceed in  making  a  ship  move  without  sails  or  oars 
against  wind  and  tide,  I  will  create  you — what  is  your 
name? 

KONTANAKKs, — Alfouso  Foutanarcs,  Your  Majesty. 

PHILIP  II. — I  will  create  you  Don  Alfonso  Fontanares, 
Duke  of — Neptunado,  Grandee  of  Spain — 

THK  DUKK  OK  LERMA. — Sire,  thc  rulcs  governing  the 
conferring  of  the  title  of  Grandee — 

PHILIP  II.— Be  silent.  Duke  of  Lerma!  The  duty  of 
a  King  is  to  raise  thc  man  of  genius  above  all,  thus 
honoring  in  him  the  ray  of  light  God  placed  within 
him. 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — Sire — 

PHILIP  II. — What  do  you  want? 

THE  c.RAND-iNQUisnoR. — Wc  wcrc  keeping  this  man 
in  our  hands,  not  because  he  had  a  compact  with  the 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  169 

Evil  One,  not  because  he  was  an  impious  scoffer,  not 
because  he  was  suspected  of  coming  from  heretical 
stock,  but  because  we  saw  in  him  a  menace  to  the 
security  of  monarchies.  By  allowing  the  mind  to 
scatter  its  thoughts  the  printing  press  gave  wings  to 
Luther's  writings.  And  this  man  will  attempt  to 
make  one  nation  of  all  the  nations  on  earth  and  before 
the  thought  of  such  a  possibility  the  Holy  Office  has 
trembled  for  the  royal  throne ! 

PHILIP  II. — All  progress  comes  from  heaven. 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — Yes,  but  hcaven  does  not 
approve  all  it  allows  to  happen. 

PHILIP  II. — Our  duty  consists  in  bettering  such  things 
as  appear  bad,  and  in  making  the  throne  the  center  of 
a  circle  around  which  moves  everything.  Do  you  not 
see,  that  our  main  object  is  to  realize  this  universal 
domination  planned  by  our  illustrious  father?  {To 
Fontanares.)  Therefore,  you  shall  be  Grandee  of 
Spain  of  the  first  class ;  I  will  place  around  your  neck 
the  collar  of  the  Golden  Fleece  and  make  you,  besides, 
Grand  Master  of  all  the  Naval  Constructions  of  Spain 
and  the  Indies.  {To  tlie  President  of  the  Council  of 
Castile.)  President,  if  you  wish  to  keep  in  my  good 
graces  you  will  send  to-day,  without  fail,  to  our  har- 
bor of  Barcelona,  an  order  to  deliver  to  this  man  a 
war  vessel  of  his  own  choice — and  see  to  it  that  no 
obstacles  are  raised  against  the  success  of  his  enter- 
prise. 

QUiNOLA. — Sire — 

PHILIP  II. — What  is  it? 

QUINOLA. — While  in  this  most  gracious  mood,  sire, 
will  you  not  grant  a  pardon  to  an  unfortunate  wretch 
named  Lavradi,  sentenced  by  a  deaf  alcalde? 


I  7°  gUINOLA'vS  RESOURCES 

THiMP  II. — Is  fliat  a  reason  why  tiic  King  should  be 
blind' 

QUiNOLA.  -  Be  merciful,  sire;  it  amounts  to  the  same 
thing. 

FONTANARES. — I  bcg  for  mcrc}',  sire,  in  favor  of  the 
only  man  who  helped  me  in  my  great  struggle. 

pHiLii'  II,  to  the  President  of  the  Council  of  Castile. — I 
have  spoken  to  this  man;  he  touched  my  hand;  let 
him  receive  letters  of  full  pardon. 

THK  QUEEN,  to  the  Kinfj. — Don  Philip,  if  this  man 
{pointing  to  Fontanares)  is  really  one  of  the  great 
inventors  sent  from  time  to  time  by  God  this  will  be  a 
beautiful  day's  work  for  you. 

PHILIP  II. — It  is  hard  to  distinguish  between  genius 
and  insanity;  but  if  he  is  insane,  my  promises  arc 
worth  his. 

QUINOLA,  asittc  to  the  Marchioness. — Here  is  your  let- 
ter; but,  between  us,  don't  write  any  more. 

THE  MARCHiON'i.ss,  to  hcrself. — We  are  saved! 
{'FJie  Kin(j  ajid  the  tvholc  court  leave  the  room.) 


SCENE    XIV 

F().\TANAKES.       QuiNOLA. 

FONTANAKv.s. — Am  I  dreaming?  A  dukedom!  A 
Spanish  Grandee  ship!     The  Golden  Fleece! 

QUiNOLA. — And  the  Grand-Mastership  of  Naval  Con- 
structions! Think  of  the  patronage  it  will  give  us! 
I  declare  the  Court  is  a  queer  place;  I  know  I  would 
succeed  in  it.  All  that's  needed  is  audacity,  and  of 
that  I  have  enough  and  to  sell!     And  of  cunning,  too! 


QUINOLAS  RESOURCES  i?' 

Well,  didn't  the  King  swallow  without  an  effort  my 
story  of  Our  Lady  of  Pilar?  And  a  tall  one  it  was — 
{lie  laughs^  then  tur?i.s  to  his  master.)  What  may  ho  be 
thinking:  of  in  that  dreamy  attitude? 

FONT  AN  A  RES. — Let  US  Start. 

QUiNOLA. — Start,  for  where? 

FONTANAREs. — For  Barcelona. 

QUINOLA. — No,  sir,  for  the  wine-shop  first.  If  the 
atmosphere  of  the  court  is  said  to  give  courtiers  a  big 
appetite,  it  gives  me  a  big  thirst —  But  after  this 
short  rest,  you'll  see  your  Quinola  at  work.  For  wc 
must  not  fool  ourselves.  Between  the  King's  word 
and  final  success,  we  are  going  to  meet  as  many  mean, 
envious,  idiotic,  cavilling,  quibbling,  ugly- tempered, 
and  generally  harmful  and  dangerous  beings  as  wc 
encountered  between  our  arrival  here  and  this  inter- 
view with  the  King!  Crawling,  rapacious  and  vora- 
cious vermin  will  swarm  around  us  like  a  plague,  and, 
fight  them,  we  must,  from  first  to  last! 

FONTANARES. — And  to  obtain  Maria,  we  have  to 
triumph  over  them  all ! 

QUINOLA. — Yes,  for  Maria's  sake — and  for  our  own! 

(Curtain  on  Prologue.) 


FIRST    ACT 

{The  action  takes  place  in  Barcelnna.  The  stage  represents  a 
public  sf/uare.  To  the  left  of  the  sjuctator  are  several  lionses, 
amony  thetn  that  of  Lottmdiaz  irlii<li  stands  at  the  corner  of  a 
streit.  To  the  right  stands  the  palace  of  Si'jnora  Faustina 
Brancadori;  in  front  of  it  a  balcony.  The  entrance  to  the 
jmlace  is  near  the  corner;  so  is  the  entrance  to  the  house  of 
Lotnndiaz.  When  the  curtain  rises  it  is  still  night,  bnt  daton 
is  gradually  breaking.) 


SCENE  I 

MoNiroDio,  seated  xtndcr  (he  balron'/  of  the  Hrancadori 
palace  and  wrapped  up  in  a  larrjc  mantle. 

QuiNOLA,  dippinf)  by  icith  a  thiePs  caution,  grazes 
Monipodio  as  he  passes. 

MONiPODio. — Who  arc  you  who  tread  on  mj'  shoes? 

QUINOLA,  as  raf/fjcd  as  he  was  in  the  first  scene  in  the 
prolofjuc. — A  gentleman  who  hasn't  any. 

MONIPODIO. — It  sounds  like  Lavradi's  voice! 

QUINOLA. — Monipodio !  Why,  I  thou^^ht  you  had  been 
hanged? 

MONIPODIO. — I  thought  you  were  being  beaten  to 
death  in  Africa! 

QUINOLA. — Alas!  Beatings!  One  can  get  that  any- 
where ! 

MONii'ODio. — And  you  dare  walk  about  in  this  place? 

QUINOLA. — Aren't  you  doing  it  yourself?  As  for  me, 
I  have  got  my  written  and  sealed  pardon  in  my  cap. 

172 


QUINOLAS  RESOURCES  173 

While  awaiting  the  barony  and  the  family  estate  to 
which  I  am  entitled,  my  name  is  Quinola. 

MoNiPODio. — From  whom  did  you  steal  this  written 
and  sealed  pardon? 

QUINOLA. — From  our  Lord  the  Kin^. 

MONIPODIO. — You  have  seen  the  King?  And  you 
smell  of  poverty? 

QUINOLA. — Yes,  but  the  poverty  of  the  poet  in  his 
garret.     And  you,  what  are  you  doing? 

MONIPODIO. — Nothing. 

QUINOLA. — That's  soon  done,  and  if  it  gives  you  a 
fair  living  besides,  I  would  not  mind  sharing  the  job. 

MONIPODIO. — For  a  long  time  I  was  an  ill-understood 
man !     Tracked  by  my  political  enemies — 

QUINOLA. — You  mean  the  police,  the  alguazils,  etc? 

MONIPODIO. — I  had  to  take  a  decision. 

QUINOLA. — And  I  guess  what  it  was — from  hunted 
you  turned  hunter. 

MONIPODIO,  indignantly. — Indeed  not;  I  am  always 
my  own  self.  Only  there  is  a  kind  of  an  understand- 
ing between  me  and  the  Viceroy.  When  one  of  my 
men  goes  too  far,  I  simply  order  him  to  quit,  and,  if 
he  doesn't,  of  course  the  police,  etc. — you  understand! 
But  no  betrayal — oh,  no! 

QUINOLA. — It's  mere  foresight! 

MONIPODIO. — So,  you  are  just  from  the  court —  And 
what  are  you  going  to  take  here? 

QUINOLA. — Listen!  {Aside.)  Just  the  man  I  want — 
An  eye  in  Barcelona!  (Aloud.)  If  I  understand  you 
right,  we  are  to  be  staunch  friends? 

MONIPODIO. — The  man  who  holds  my  secret  is  always 
my  friend. 

QUINOLA. — Then,   what  are    you  standing  here  for, 


174  QUINOI.AS  KESOURCHS 

like  a  jealous  lover  on  the  watcli?  Let  us  ro  and  dry 
a  goat-skin  and  moisten  our  tonj^^ues  in  a  wine-shop. 
The  day  is  dawning" — 

MONiPODio,  poi/ilin;/  tn  I  he  Iliri/ictxlori  pahicc. — Do  you 
see  this  palace  all  lit  up  in  sign  of  festivity?  Don 
Fregoso,  my  Vieeroy,  is  supping  and  gambling  at  Sig- 
nora  Faustina  Brancadori'sl 

QUiNOLA. — Brancadori —  The  name  of  one  of  the 
great  Venetian  families!  She  must  be  a  widow  of  a 
patrician? 

MONIPODIO. — Whether  she  is  or  no,  she  is  twenty-two 
years  old,  as  intoxicating  as  old  Madeira  and  rules 
over  our  fjovernor.  Between  you  and  me,  she  already 
has  relieved  him  of  all  the  booty  he  gathered  during 
the  Italian  wars,  under  Charles  the  Fifth.  What 
comes  through  the  flute — 

QUINOLA. — Vanishes  into  wind  again!  The  age  of 
our  Viceroy? 

MONIPODIO. — He  admits  to  sixty. 

QUiNOLA. — Why  do  people  talk  about  the  foolishness 
of  first  love?  I  don't  know  anything  worse  than  one's 
last  love!  It's  as  bad  as  a  halter  around  one's  neck. 
I  am  happy  to  think  that  I  have  reached  the  state  of 
absolute   indifference!     lam   cutout  for  a  statesman. 

MONIPODIO. — The  old  General  is  young  enough  to  j^ay 
me  to  spy  upon  his  lady-love;  and  the  Brancadori 
pays  me  to  be  free.  You  see  what  a  merry  life  I 
lead,  without  hurting  any  one. 

QUiNoL.v. — And  you  take  care  to  gather  information 
from  all  {juarters  so  as  to  be  able  at  the  right  time 
to  choke  any  objectionable —  {.]fn)iipoflio  nods  a(}irm- 
afivel}/.)     Is  Lotundiaz  still  alive? 

MONiPODi".  —  He  is,   and  this  palace  as  well   as  the 


yUINOLA'S  KKSOURCJCS  175 

house  over  yonder  are  his ;    he  is  becoming  more  and 
more  a  landlord. 

QUiNOLA. — I  hoped  to  find  the  yoimg  heiress  in  pos- 
session of  her  own.     My  master  is  lost! 

MONiPODio.  —  You  talk  of  a  master! 

QUINOLA. — Oh,  he  is  my  future  gold  mine. 

MONIPODIO. — Could  I  not  enter  his  service? 

QUiNOi.A. — Oh,  I  am  counting  upon  your  help. 
Listen,  Monipodio.  We  have  come  to  this  city  to 
change  the  face  of  the  world :  my  master  has  promised 
the  King  to  set  a-moving,  without  the  help  of  wind 
or  oars,  even  against  storm  and  tide,  one  of  the  finest 
ships  in  the  Royal  Navy. 

MONIPODIO,  uispectiiig  his  friend  on  all  sides. — Why, 
they  must  have  sadly  changed  you ! 

QUINOLA. — Monipodio,  remember  that  only  the  com- 
mon rabble  ought  to  show  any  surprise.  Intelligent 
people  are  above  that.  Now,  the  King  has  given  us  a 
ship;  that's  all  right,  but  not  a  ducat  did  he  throw  in. 
So  we  just  arrived  here  escorted  by  these  two  faithful 
companions  of  talent:  Hunger  and  Thirst.  A  poor 
man  who  happens  to  hit  upon  a  good  idea,  always 
reminds  me  of  a  piece  of  bread  thrown  into  a  fish- 
pond— every  cursed  fish  is  sure  to  rush  and  nibble  at 
it.  If  we  ever  reach  fame  and  fortune  it  will  be 
through  nakedness  and  starvation ! 

.MONIPODIO. — I  have  no  doubt  of  it. 

QUINOLA. — One  morning,  in  Valladolid,  my  master, 
exhausted  by  the  struggle,  had  almost  decided  to  share 
his  secret  with  an  ignoramus  of  a  savant  whom  I  had 
to  drive  out  of  the  room  with  arguments  made  out  of 
green  wood. 


176  QUINOLAS  RESOURCES 

MONiPODio. — Then  how  shall  we  be  able  to  make  an 
honest  fortune  out  of  this  affair? 

QUiNOLA. — First  of  all,  we  must  protect  my  master 
from  himself.  You  see,  he  is  deeply  in  love,  and  love 
is  responsible  for  mad  deeds  as  well  as  great  ones. 
Besides,  he  does  not  know  the  value  of  money  — 

MONiPODio. — Oh,  I  see,  you  chose  your  master  all 
right— 

QUINOLA. — He  is  more  in  need  of  devotion  and 
shrewdness  than  of  favor  and  money;  in  fact,  I  am 
afraid  that  in  his  hands  the  latter  would  be  rather 
harmful.  So  far  as  we  are  concerned,  he'll  give  us, 
or  allow  us  to  take,  enough  to  make  of  us  honest 
people  for  the  rest  of  our  natural  lives. 

MONIPODIO. — Ah,  that's  my  dream! 

QUINOLA. — Then  let  us  employ  for  the  success  of  this 
gigantic  enterprise  those  sundry  talents  of  ours  put, 
until  now,  to  such  mistaken  use.  We  should  be 
unlucky,  indeed,  if  the  devil  turned  against  us  on  that 
account! 

MONIPODIO. — It  would  be  worth  a  pilgrimage  to 
Saint  James  of  Compostello.  Well,  I  have  the  smug- 
gler's blind  confidence:  here  is  my  hand  on  it! 

QUINOLA. — You  are  still  in  touch  with  our  counter- 
feiting friends  and  our  clever  locksmiths? 

MONIPODIO. — I  have  to  be —  In  the  interest  of  the 
State. 

QUINOLA. — Of  course,  of  course —  Well,  my  master 
will  begin  right  away  to  build  his  machine;  what  I 
want  is  to  have  every  part  duplicated  as  fast  as  com- 
pleted— 

MONIPODIO. — CJuinola? 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  i77 

QuiNOLA,  Paquita  shoius  herself  on  the  balcony. — Well? 

MONiPODio. — You  are  the  great  man! 

QUINOLA. — I  know  I  am.  Invent  and  thou  shalt  die 
starved  and  hunted  down  like  a  criminal.  Copy  and 
thou  shalt  live  as  happy  as  a  fool.  Besides,  suppose 
Fontanares  should  die  or  his  model  be  destroyed —  Is 
it  not  my  duty  to  save  such  a  great  invention  for  the 
benefit  of  humanity? 

MONIPODIO. — All  the  more  so,  since,  according  to  an 
ancient  author,  we  are  humanity! 


SCENE    II 

The  Preceding.     Paquita. 

QUINOLA,  aside. — After  an  honest  dupe  I  know  no 
one  so  easy  to  deceive  as  a  swindler  who  fools  himself. 

PAQUITA,  to  herself. — Two  friends  embracing  in  the 
street.     They  can't  be  spies. 

QUINOLA,  to  Monipodio. — You  already  have  the  Vice- 
roy on  your  side  and  the  Brancadori  in  your  power; 
these  are  two  first-class  trumps  in  the  game.  Add  to 
it  a  miracle — find  decent  clothes  for  us  and  manage 
some  means  by  which  my  master  can  meet  his  Maria 
Lotundiaz;  otherwise  I  answer  for  nothing.  For  the 
last  two  days  he  has  done  little  else  than  talk  to  me  of 
his  sweetheart,  and  I  am  deathly  afraid  of  seeing  him 
turn  crazy  on  the  subject — 

MONIPODIO. — The  child  is  watched  over  like  a  man 
sentenced  to  be  hanged,  and  for  the  following  reason : 
Lotundiaz  married  twice.     His  first  wife  was  poor  but 


l-}&  OUINOLA'S    RI'-SOURCKS 

bore  him  a  son.  The  fortune  he  enjoys  now  came  to 
him  with  his  second  wife,  the  mother  of  Maria.  She 
also  died,  but,  in  her  will  she  left  all  her  wealth  to  her 
daughter  to  be  handed  to  her  when  of  age.  The 
growing  miserliness  of  the  old  fellow  is  due  to  his 
desire  to  gather  a  fortune  for  his  son,  whom  he 
idolizes.  Sarpi,  the  Viceroy's  secretary,  is  on  the 
lists  as  a  suitor  to  the  rich  heiress  and  has  promised 
liis  future  father-in-law  to  have  him  ennobled  the  day 
after  the  wedding.  Sarpi  pretends  a  deep  interest  in 
the  son's  career — 

QUiNOLA. — So,  that's  already  one  enemy — 
MONiPODio. — It  ought  to  make  us  all  the  more  pru- 
dent—  Listen,  I'll  give  you  a  few  lines  to  Mateo 
Magis,  the  richest  Lombard  in  town ;  I  have  him  under 
my  thumb.  In  his  pawn-shop,  you'll  find  everything, 
from  shoes  to  diamonds;  go,  and  when  you  return,  I'll 
manage  to  get  your  master  an  interview  with  the 
sefiorita. 

{^Exeunt  both.) 


SCENE    III 

Paquita.      Fausti.n'a,  oil  the  bahony. 

PAQurr A.— Madame  is  right;  those  two  men  were 
watching  the  house;  now  that  the  sun  has  risen,  they 
are  gone. 

FAUSTINA. — This  old  Viceroy  begins  to  be  unbear- 
able; he  keeps  on  suspecting  me  even  when  he  is  in 
my  house  and  talking  to  me! 

(Exit  Eaqaitu.) 


QUINOLAS    RESOURCES  179 


SCENE    IV 


Faustina.     Don  Fregoso,  joining  her  on  the  balcony. 

DON  FRKGoso. — Madame,  I  am  much  afraid  that  you 
will  catch  cold  in  the  morning-  air. 

FAUSTINA. — Come  closer,  My  Lord,  and  let  me  tell 
you  something.  Yovi  say  you  have  full  faith  in  me 
and  yet  you  persist  in  placing  Monipodio  as  a  spy  under 
my  very  windows —  These  suspicious  ways  would  be 
unworthy  even  of  a  young  man  and  are  most  vexing 
to  an  honest  woman.  There  are  two  kinds  of  jeal- 
ousies— The  first  doubts  everybody;  the  second 
doubts  one's  self  only.  You  should  hold  to  the 
second. 

DON  FREGOSO. — Oh,  Madame,  do  not  spoil  the  climax 
of  this  lovely  entertainment  by  starting  a  quarrel  with- 
out a  motive. 

FAUSTINA. — Then  answer  me,  yes  or  no:  Was  Moni- 
podio under  my  window  most  of  the  night?  Pledge  me 
your  honor  as  a  gentleman. 

DON  FREGOSO. — Well,  he  may  have  been  somewhere 
in  the  neighborhood,  to  prevent  our  gambling  friends 
from  being  attacked  on  their  way  home. 

FAUSTINA. — An  old  diplomat's  reply!  But  I'll  know 
the  truth  and  if  you  have  answered  me  falsely,  I'll 
never  see  you  again  in  my  life!  [She  angrily  leaves  the 
balcony.) 

SCENE   V 

DON  FREGOSO,  oloiie. — All,  why  is  it  that  I  cannot  live 
without  seeing  and  hearing  this  woman !     Everything 


i8o  gUlNOLAS    RESOURCES 

in  her  deli^^hts  me,  even  her  ang-er,  and  I  love  to  make 
her  mad,  just  for  the  sake  of  her  scolding! 


SCENE    VI 

Pa(,)Uita,   at   thv  door  of   the   Brancadori  palace. 
MoNiPODio,  disyuised  as  a  mcndicaiit  friar. 

PAQUiTA,  to  herself. — Madame  told  me  to  find  out  on 
whose  account  Monipodio  was  watching-  our  street 
to-night —     But — I  don't  see  anybody  around. 

MONIPODIO,  stretchmg  his  hand. — Alms -giving,  my 
daughter,  will  make  you  rich  in  heaven. 

PAQUITA. — I  have  nothing  to  give. 

MONIPODIO. — Then  promi.se  me  something. 

pAyuiTA. — This  seems  quite  a  gay  brother! 

MONIPODIO,  aside. — She  does  not  know  me.  I  may 
risk  the  trick.  {He  knocks  al  the  dour  of  /Aifinuiiaz'a 
house.) 

PAQUITA. — Oh,  if  you  count  upon  our  landlord's 
generosity,  you  would  be  richer  with  my  promise. 
(To  the  llraiicadari  who  ajtpears  for  a  ininittv  on  the  bal- 
cony.)    Madame,  the  men  are  gone. 

{Exeunt  lad II  ami  maid.) 

SCENE    VII 

t 

Monipodio.      D<>na  Lopf./,  outside  tin  door  (f  the 
Lotundiaz  house. 

DONA  i.oPK/,  to  Monipodio      What  do  yoii  want' 
MONii'oDio. — The  brothers  of  my  order  have  received 
news  from  your  dear  Lopez — 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  i8l 

DONA  LOPEZ. — Is  it  possiblc  that  he  be  alive? 

MONiPODio. — When  escorting  la  Seiiorita  Maria  to 
mass,  this  morning  at  the  church  of  the  Dominican 
convent,  go  to  the  further  end  of  the  square  and  you'll 
meet  a  man  just  escaped  from  Africa,  who  will  talk  to 
you  of  Lopez. 

DONA  LOPEZ. — Mercy  of  heaven !  And  can  I  buy  him 
back  from  the  pirates? 

MONIPODIO. — Find  out  first  what  has  become  of  him ! 
He  may  have  turned  mussulman  by  this  time ! 

DONA  LOPEZ. — Oh,  never!  My  dear,  dear  Lopez! 
I'll  go  back  and  hurry  the  seiiorita.  {She  re-enters  the 
house. ) 


SCENE    VIII 

MONIPODIO.       QUINOLA.       FONTANARES. 

FONTANARES. — Uudcr  her  windows  at  last,  Quinola! 

QUINOLA. — Yes,  yes —  {Looking  around,  to  himself.) 
But  where  is  my  Monipodio?  Has  the  duenna  fooled 
him  after  all?     {Re  examines  the  Friar.)     I  say,  father — 

MONIPODIO,  in  a  low  voice. — Everything  is  all  right. 

QUINOLA. — Sangodemi!  What  a  perfect  beggar- 
monk!  Worthy  of  Titian's  brush.  {To  Fontanares.) 
She  will  be  here  in  a  minute.  {To  Monipodio.)  How 
do  you  find  him? 

MONIPODIO.  — Fine. 

QUINOLA. — A  future  Grandee  of  Spain,  every  inch 
of  him. 

MONIPODIO. — He  deserves  more  than  that 


i82  gUINOLA'S    Ri:SOURCRS 

QuiNOLA,  to  his  master.— And  now,  sir,  be  cautious. 
No  such  outbursts  of  love  as  might  arouse  the 
duenna's  suspicions. 


SCENE    IX 

The  Preceding.      Dona  Lopez.      Maria. 

MONiPODio,  pointing  out  Quinohi  to  the  duenna. — Here 
is  the  Christian  just  escaped  from  captivity. 

QUINOLA,  to  the  duenna. — Ah,  Madame,  I  recognize 
yon  from  Seiior  Lorenzo's  description  of  your  charms. 
(//<'  leads  her  away  and  nut  of  sifjht.) 


SCENE   X 

MoNiPODio.      Maria.      Fontanares. 

M.xRiA. — Is  it  truly  you' 

FONT  an  ARKS. — Vcs,  it  is  I,  Maria.  I  have  succeeded 
at  last,  and  happiness  is  to  be  ours! 

MARIA. — Ah,  if  you  only  knew  how  inucli  I  have 
prayed  for  y(jur  success! 

KoNTANARKS. — I  havc  a  thousand  things  to  tell  you, 
but  there  is  one  I  ought  to  repeat  a  million  times  to 
make  up  for  my  long  al)sencc. 

MARIA. — If  you  speak  thi."*  way,  I'll  believe  that  you 
do  not  know  the  true  nature  of  my  attachment.  It 
cares  less  for  sweet  words  than  for  news  of  all  that 
interests  you. 

KONTANARES.-  What    interests    me    more    than   any- 


OUINOLAS    RESOURCES  183 

thing  else,  jNIaria,  is  to  be  assured,  now  that  I  am  about 
launching  into  a  venture  that  means  everything  to 
me,  that  you  still  have  the  courage  to  resist  your 
father's  will,  even  if  he  is  bent  upon  marrying  you  to 
another. 

MARIA. — Do  you  think  me  changed,  then? 

KONTANAREs. — Alas,  for  US  mcu,  to  love  is  to  tremble! 
You  are  so  rich  !  I  am  so  poor !  As  long  as  they  thought 
me  lost,  they  left  you  in  peace;  but,  now  that  I  am 
here  again,  the  whole  world  will  be  between  us.  You 
are  my  star,  dazzling  and  far  away!  If  you  were  not 
to  be  mine  at  the  end  of  my  struggle,  ah,  in  spite  of 
my  great  triumph,  I  should  die  of  grief! 

MARIA, — All,  you  don't  know  me!  In  solitude, 
almost  a  prisoner  during  your  absence,  I  have  felt  the 
innocent  attachment  that  has  united  us  since  childhood 
growing  stronger  and  loftier — as  did  your  destiny. 
Alfonso,  when  these  eyes  that  see  you  again  with  such 
delight  shall  have  been  closed  forever;  when  this 
heart  that  beats  only  for  God,  my  father  and  you,  shall 
be  withered  in  the  grave,  I  believe  there  will  still 
remain  on  earth  a  soul  that  shall  never  cease  loving 
you!     Do  you  doubt  my  constancy  any  longer? 

FONTANAREs. — Ah,  after  listening  to  such  words, 
who  would  not  stand  the  tortures  of  martyrdom? 

SCENE    XI 

The  Preceding.      Lotundiaz. 

LOTUNDiAz,  to  him  Self. — This  fool  of  a  duenna  has 
left  the  door  open — 

.MONiPODio,    aside. — The     poor     children     are    lost! 


io4  QUINOLAS    RKSOURCES 

{Apjiniacliing  Lotundinz.)  Alms-giving,  my  brother, 
will  make  you  rich  in  heaven — 

LoruNDiAZ,  roughly. — Better  go  to  work  and  get  rich 
in  this  world.  {He  looks  around.)  1  see  neither  my 
daughter  nor  her  duenna  on  the  square.  {Stiujc  Inj- 
plaij  between  Monipudio  and  Lotundiaz,  l/ic  former  inter- 
posing his  person  bciivecn  the  father  and  the  lovers.) 

MONiPODio. — Spaniards  are  always  generous! 

T.oruNDiAZ. — Leave  me  alone!  I  am  not  a  vSpaniard, 
I  am  a  Catalan  and  not  easily  fooled!  {Suddenlg  seeing 
Fonta7i(tres  and  his  dauglitcr  InUing  together.)  What's 
this?  My  daughter  and  a  young  seiior!  {He  rushes  to 
them.)  It's  useless  paying  duennas  tf»  have  the  eyes 
and  ears  of  a  mother;  they  always  cheat  you!  (7'j 
Maria.)  What,  you,  Maria,  heiress  to  ten  thousand 
ducats  a  year,  you  dare  to  speak  to —  What!  Have  I 
lost  my  senses!  Is  it  really  that  cursed,  penniless, 
machinist  again?  {(Juinola  appea}'s  at  the  corner  of  the 
street;  Monopodia  makes  signs  to  him  c:rj)laining  the  mishap) 

MAKiA. — Fatlier,  Alfonso  Fontanares  is  not  poor  any 
longer.     He  has  seen  the  King. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — I  pity  the  King. 

KONTANAREs. — Scuor  Lotuudiaz,  I  have  now  the  right 
to  aspire  to  your  daughter's  hand. 

i.oTUNDiAZ. — Really ! 

FoNTANARKS. — Will  you  acccpt  as  your  son-in-law 
the  Duke  of  Ncptimado,  a  Grandee  of  Spain  and  the 
favorite  of  the  King?  {Lotundiaz pretends  to  look  ai'otmd 
for  the  Ihike  of  Xeptunuflo.) 

MARIA. — He  means  himself,  father. 

i.fiTUNDiAZ. — He!  Whom  I  have  seen  as  big  as  this 
iphiring  his  haml  tico  fvct  from  the  ground)  in  the 
cloth-shop  of  his  father!     Does  he  take  me  for  an  idiot? 


QUINOLAS   RESOURCES  185 

SCENE    XIII 
The  Preceding.     Quinola.     Dona  Lopez, 

(juiNOLA. — Who  said  idiot? 

FONTANAREs. — As  a  wcdding  present  I  shall  obtain 
for  you  letters  of  nobility,  and  both  my  wife  and  I  will 
allow  you  to  use  her  fortune  to  purchase  an  estate  to 
be  entailed  on  your  son  during  his  life. 

MARIA. — What  do  you  say  to  that,  father? 

QUINOLA. — What  do  you  say  to  that,  sir? 

LOTUNDiAZ. — Why,  if  here  isn't  that  brigand  of  a 
Lavradi? 

QUINOLA. — My  master  had  my  innocence  recognized 
by  the  King. 

LOTUNDIAZ,  sarcastically. — To  ennoble  me  is  easy 
work  compared  to  thatl 

QUINOLA. — So  you  believe  that  royal  letters-patent 
can  make  a  great  lord  out  of  a  bourgeois?  Let 
me  test  you.  Imagine  that  I  am  the  Marquis  of 
Lavradi.  (Addressinf/  liim  as  a  coyriicr  ivould  his  fellow 
grandee.)  My  dear  fellow,  just  let  me  have  a  hundred 
ducats ! 

LOTUNDIAZ. — A  hundred  blows,  you  scamp!  Why,  a 
hundred  ducats  is  the  rental  of  an  estate  worth  two 
thousand  gold  doubloons! 

QUINOLA. — Do  you  see  now?  Here  is  a  man  who 
wants  to  be  an  aristocrat!  I'll  try  another  tack — 
Count  Lotundiaz,  will  you  advance  two  thousand  gold 
doubloons  to  my  master  to  allow  him  -to  fulfill  his 
promises  to  the  King? 

LOTUNDIAZ,  to  Foifnuarcs. — What  are  these  promises? 

FONT  AN  ARES. — The  King  of  Spain,  informed  of  my 


l86  QUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

love  for  your  daughLcr,  is  coming'  to  Barcelona,  in  a 
few  months,  to  examine  a  ship  moving  about  the  har- 
bor, without  sails  or  oars,  by  means  of  a  machine  of 
my  own  invention.  Then  we  shall  be  married  in  His 
Majesty's  presence. 

LOTvmn.xz,  cmde. — They  are  nuikiny^  sport  of  me! 
(Aloud.)  If  you  can  '^ct  ships  to  move  about  in  that 
way,  I'm  sure  I  have  no  objection,  and  will  go  down 
to  the  seashore  to  see  the  fun.  But  I  have  no  use  as  a 
son-in-law  for  a  man  with  such  grand  aims.  Girls 
educated  in  our  families  have  no  need  of  prodigies  as 
husbands;  they  are  better  off  with  men  who  busy 
themselves  with  their  home  affairs  and  don't  bother 
about  what  takes  place  in  the  moon.  The  only  prodigy 
wanted  here  is  an  every-day  husband  and  father. 

KONT.ANAkKs. — Scfior,  your  daughter  was  hardly 
twelve  years  old  when  she  first  smiled  upon  me,  as 
Beatrix  did  upon  Dante.  Being  a  child  then,  she  saw 
in  rae  only  a  Inother;  later,  when  the  difference 
between  our  fortunes  separated  us,  she  watched  me  as 
I  struggled  to  bridge  the  gulf  with  deeds  of  fame.  For 
her  I  went  to  Italy  and  studied  under  Galileo.  She 
was  the  first  to  grasp  my  idea,  to  applaud  my  concep- 
tion! She  has  espoused  my  very  thoughts  before  she 
has  espoused  me.  Thus  has  she  become  the  whole 
world  to  me.  Do  you  understand  now  why  I  idolize 
her? 

L<nuNDi.\z.  —  And  it's  just  on  that  account  that  I  will 
never  give  her  to  you!  In  ten  years  she  would  be  for- 
saken for  some  dream  of  another  invention ! 

MARi.v. — Can  one  ever  forsake  a  love  that  has  led  to 
such  marvels' 

i.oTUN'i)i.\^. — Yes,  when  it  stops  producing  tliem. 


QUINOLAS    REvSOURCER  187 

MARIA. — But  if  he  really  becomes  a  Duke,  and  a 
Grandee  of  Spain,  and  a  wealthy  man? 

LOTUNDiAz.— If— if— if—  All  those  I'fs  arc  good  for 
is  to  drive  one  to  the  poor-house;  that's  the  usual  fate 
of  these  pretended  world-discoverers! 

FONTA NARKS. — vStill,  hcrc  are  the  King's  letters  in 
which  His  Majesty  places  at  my  disposal  a  vessel  of 
my  own  choice. 

QUiNOLA. — Why  don't  you  open  your  eyes  to  such 
evidence,  Seiior?  Besides,  my  master  is  a  handsome 
man,  if  he  is  an  inventor.  You  may  object  to  genius 
and  think  it  a  home-disturber;  but  the  handsome 
young  man  still  remains,  and  what  more  does  the 
average  girl  want  for  happiness. 

LOTUNDiA/. — Plappiness  is  not  in  these  extremes. 
A  good-looking  swain  and  a  man  of  genius,  all  in  one — 
Why  the  combination  would  exhaust  the  gold  mines  of 
Peru !     No,  no ;  my  daughter  will  be  Countess  Sarpi ! 


SCENE    XIII 

The  Preceding.      Sarpi.      (0/t  (he  balcony. ) 

SARPI,  to  himself. — I  heard  my  name.  What  do  I 
see?  The  heiress  and  her  father  on  the  square  at  this 
hour !     {He  loithdraivs. ) 

LOTUNDIAZ. — Sarpi  did  not  go  to  the  inland  port  of 
Valladolid  to  fetch  a  ship ;  he  was  content  with  advanc- 
ing my  son  one  step. 

FONT  AN  ARES. — In  the  interest  of  your  son's  future, 
vSeiior  Lotundiaz,  do  not  rashly  dispose  of  your  daugh- 
ter's hand  without  her  consent.    She  loves  me  and  I  love 


1 88  QUINOLA'S    l^KSf)URCES 

her.       In   a   few   months    I    shall  be  one  of   tlie   most 
important  men  in  Spain  and  able  to  revenge   myself — 

MARIA. — Oh,  not  against  my  father! 

FONTANARKS. — Then,  convince  him,  Maria,  of  all  I 
am  doing  to  deserve  you ! 

SARi'i,  7-c-appeari)u/  at  the  street  doorirdij  nf  Ihr  iSran- 
cadori palace.     He  speaks  aside. — A  rival! 

QUiNOLA,  to  Lotundiaz. — Scfior,  if  you  do  not  give 
way,  you'll  lose  your  soul. 

LOTUNDIAZ, — How  do  you  know? 

QUiNoi-A. — Worse  than  that,  you'll  be  robbed  <^f  your 
money;  I'll  swear  to  it. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — Well,  then,  to  avoid  being  rc»bbed  and 
damned,  I'll  keep  my  daughter  for  a  man  who  may 
lack  genius  but  not  common  sense. 

FONT  AN  ARES. — At  least,  conscnt  to  wait  a  few 
months — 

SARPi. — And  why  should  he  wait? 

QUiNOLA,  to  Monipodio. — Who  is  the  fellow? 

MONiroDio. — Sarpi. 

(QUINOLA.  —  He  has  the  beak  of  a  bird  ui  prey. 

MONIPODIO. — Hard  game  to  shoot;  he  is  the  real 
governor  of  Catalonia. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — My  respects  to  you,  Senor  Secretary.  ( To 
Fontanarcs.)  And  my  good-by  to  you,  my  dear  fellow. 
Your  return  decides  me  to  hasten  the  marriage.  {To 
Maria.)  Get  back  indoors,  young  lady.  (7'o  lh,nii 
Lopez.)  And  you,  old  witch,  you'll  have  to  settle  with 
me,  by  and  by. 

SARPI,  to  Lotundiaz. — Has  this  hidalgo  any  preten- 
sions? 

FONTANARKS,  to  iSnrpi. — He  has  rights,  sir! 

{Exeunt  Maria,  Dona  Lopez  and  Lotundiaz.) 


gUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  189 


SCENE    XIV 

MoNiPODio.      Sarpi.      Fontanarks.      (JUIN'OLA, 

SARPi. — Rights,  did  you  say?  Don't  you  know  then 
that  the  nephew  of  Fra  Paolo  Sarpi,  related  to  the 
patrician  family  of  Brancadori,  created  a  Count  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Naples,  Secretary  to  the  Viceroyalty  of 
Catalonia,  is  a  suitor  to  the  hand  of  Seiiorita  Maria 
Lotundiaz?  Any  one  who  claims  rights  in  the  prem- 
ises, is  insulting  both  the  lady  and  myself. 

FONTANARES. — And  do  you  know  that  I,  to  whom  the 
King,  our  master,  has  promised  the  title  of  Duke  of 
Neptunado,  of  Grandee,  and  the  collar  of  the  Golden 
Fleece  have  loved  Seiiorita  Maria  Lotundiaz  for  the 
last  five  years,  and  that  your  pretensions,  which  are  in 
direct  opposition  to  the  pledges  she  and  I  have  given 
to  each  other,  will  be  considered,  if  you  do  not  relin- 
quish them  at  once,  as  an  insult  to  her  and  to  me? 

SARPI. — I  had  no  idea,  My  Lord,  that  I  had  such  a 
grand  personage  as  my  rival.  Well,  future  Duke  of 
Neptunado,  future  Grandee,  future  Knight  of  the 
Golden  Fleece,  it  appears  that  we  are  in  love  with  the 
same  woman.  If  you  have  the  lady's  pledge,  I  have 
the  father's  consent;  you  are  expecting  honors;  I  am 
enjoying  honors  now. 

FONTANARES. — Well,  then,  let  us  halt  right  here. 
Do  not  utter  one  word  more,  do  not  allow  yourself  one 
insulting  look,  if  you  do  not  want  me  to  think  you  a 
coward.  Remember,  that,  had  I  a  thousand  causes 
for  quarreling,  I  can  fight  no  one  before  having  m.ade 
good  my  promises  to  the  King.  I  now  stand,  all 
alone,  in  battle  array  against  the  whole  world.     When 


19°  (JUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

I  shall  have  Uiumphcd,  ynu  will  find  mc  again — by  ihc 
Kingf's  side. 

SARiM. — Trust  mc,  I  shall  not  lose  track  of  you! 


SCENE    XV 

The  pRF.(.:EniNc;.      Don  Fkkc.oso.      Faustina. 
pAyuiTA. 

FAUSTINA,  (al/ciiif/  on  the  balcom/  to  Don  Frcgoso. — 
What  itt  taking  place  down  there,  My  Lord,  between 
this  young  man  and  your  secretary?  Let  us  go  and 
sec. 

QUiNOLA,  aside  to  Afonipodio. — I  tell  you,  my  master 
has  a  uniqtie  talent  for  attracting  thunderbolts! 

MONii'ODio. — He  carries  his  head  so  high  I 

SARi'i,  to  Bon  Fref/oso,  now  on  the  square. — My  Lord, 
there  has  just  arrived  in  Catalonia,  a  man  who  is  to  be, 
some  day,  the  recipient  of  the  greatest  honors  from 
the  King,  our  master,  and  whom  Your  Excellency  will 
surely  welcome  according  to  his  merits. 

DON  FKEGOso,  to  Fontaudfcs. — To  what  noble  stock 
do  you  belong? 

Kf)NTANAKEs,  aside. — To  how  many  such  smiles  have 
I  had  to  submit!  {Aloud.)  lixcellcncy,  the  King  did 
not  ask  me  this  question.  Allow  me  to  present  you 
His  Majesty's  letter  and  those  of  his  ministers.  (///• 
hands  to  Don  Frrgoso  a  package  of  documents.) 

FAUSTINA,  to  Paquita. — This  man  has  the  bearing  of 
a  prince. 

PA(juriA. — Of  a  prince  about  to  make  many  con- 
quests. 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  191 

FAUSTINA,  (nl(/rrssi)i(/  Monipodio. — Do  you  know  whf) 
tlie  man  is' 

.MONIPODIO.-  A  man  who  plans  to  upset  the  wliole 
world. 

FAUSTINA. — Is  this  the  famous  inventor  so  manv 
people  have  been  talking  to  me  about? 

MONIPODIO. — The  very  person;  and  here  is  his  serv- 
ant.     {Pointing  to  Quinola.) 

DON  FREGOso. — Here,  Sarpi,  you  may  file  these  min- 
isterial dispatches.  I  shall  keep  the  King's  letter. 
{To  Fontanares.)  Well,  my  dear  man,  the  King's 
orders  are  most  positive.  But  you  are  attempting  to 
realize  impossibilities — I  should  advise  you  to  obtain, 
in  this  matter,  the  counsels  of  Don  Ramon,  one  of  the 
most  learned  men  in  Catalonia,  who  has  dabbled 
considerably  in  similar  studies.  His  works  have  quite 
a  reputation — 

FONTANARES. — In  such  matters,  Your  Excellency, 
the  best  books  are  not  worth  the  actual  results. 

DON  FKKGoso. — What  prcsumptiou !  {To  Sarpi.)  You 
will  place  at  the  disposal  of  this  gentleman  the  ship  he 
may  select  in  the  harbor. 

SARPI,  aside  to  the  Viceroy. — Are  you  sure  that  it  is 
really  the  King's  good  pleasure? 

DON  FREGoso. — Wc  shall  find  out.  In  Spain  one  has 
to  recite  a  Paler  nostcr  before  each  step  one  takes. 

SARPI. — You  know  we  had  other  letters  from  Valla- 
dolid  concerning  the  matter. 

FAUSTINA,  to  the  Viceroy. — What  is  all  this  about? 

DON  FREGOSO. — Oh,  nothing  but  a  wild  fancv,  a 
chimera ! 

FAUSTINA. — Just  the  kind  of  things  I  like  to  hear 
about ' 


192  gUINOI.AS    RESOURCES 

DON  FRF.r.oso. — TliG  chimcra  of  a  clever  machinist  to 
which  the  King  has  given  some  consideration,  en 
account  of  the  disaster  to  the  armada.  Should  this 
person  succeed,  however,  it  may  bring  the  Court  to 
liarcelona,  for  awhile. 

FAUSTINA.  — In  that  case  we  shall  be  imder  great 
obligations  to  him. 

DON  FRF.Goso,  (Lsidc  fo  /ut lis/ iitfi. — It  is  scldom  that  you 
speak  so  graciously  to  me.  [Ahnid.)  He  has  pledged 
his  head  that  he  will  make  ships  move  against  the 
wind,  as  fast  as  the  wind,  and  without  sails  or  oars. 

FAUSTINA. — He  has  pledged  his  head!  Why,  he  is 
only  a  boy! 

SARPi. — And  Senor  Alfonso  Fontanares  counts  upon 
the  realization  of  this  dream  to  secure  the  hand  of 
Senorita  Maria  Lotundiaz. 

FAUSTINA. — Ah —     He  is  in  love? 

QUiNOi..\,  /'//  a  hur  voire  til  /''aitsttini. — No,  Madame,  he 
worships! 

FAUSTINA. — Lotiindiaz's  daughter? 

DON  FRF.GOSO. — How  Suddenly  you  have  become  inter- 
ested in  him! 

FAUSTINA. — If  only  for  the  sake  of  having  the  court 
sojourn  a  while  here,  I  wish  the  gentleman  success. 

DON  FKE(;<>so. — Madame,  will  you  consent  to  join  us 
at  a  collation  at  the  seaside  villa  of  Don  Avaloros. 
A  pleasure  craft  is  awaiting  your  orders. 

FAU'STiNA. — A  thousand  thanks.  My  Lord,  but  I  must 
refuse.  This  all-night  entertainment  has  tired  me  and 
such  a  trip  would  be  more  than  I  could  stand.  I  am 
not,  like  you,  under  obi'gation  to  show  myself  inde- 
fatigable; youth  is  fond  it^  sieep,  and,  excuse  me,  if  I 
retire  to  seek  rest. 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  193 

DON  FREGOso. — You  nevcr  say  anything  to  me  that 
is  not  full  of  sarcasm. 

FAUSTINA. — Tremble  rather,  lest  I  should  take  you 
seriously ! 

{E.ren/if  FuKsfina,  fitv  Viceroy  and  Paquita.) 


SCENE    XVI 

avaloros.     ouinola.     monipodio.     fontanares. 

Sarpi. 

SARPi,  to  Avaloros. — The  seaside  excursion  has  fallen 
through. 

AVALOROS. — Never  mind;  I  won  a  hundred  doub- 
loons last  night.  {S((rpi  and  Avaloros  talk  apart  for  a 
moment.) 

FONTANARES,  to  Monipodio. — Who  is  this  newcomer? 

MONIPODIO. — Avaloros,  the  richest  banker  in  Barce- 
lona; they  say  that  he  has  the  Mediterranean  Sea  in 
his  pocket. 

(^uiNOLA. — I  already  have  a  warm  spot  in  my  heart 
for  him. 

MONIPODIO, — He  rules  over  us  all! 

AVALOROS,  approarhing  Fontanares. — Young  man,  I 
am  a  banker  and  if  your  invention  has  any  value,  you 
will  soon  find  that  after  the  protection  of  God  and  of 
the  King,  nothing  is  more  essential  than  a  millionaire's 
assistance. 

SARPI,  amde  to  Avaloros. — Make  him  no  promises. 
Between  us  we  shall  have  him  soon  under  our  thumb. 

AVALOROS,  to    Fontanares. — Come   and    see    me,    my 


194  guixoLAs  Ri':sorRcii:s 

dear  fellow.      (  WJu'le  }ic  mijn  titcse  words  Monipadin  filr/ies 
fn's  pxrsp,  inisreii  hy  avif  one.) 

{E.rettnl  Sarpi  and  Araloro.i.) 


SCENE     XVII 

MONirODIO.        FONTANARES.        QuiNOI.A. 

QUiNOLA,  to  Fitntaiuires. — The  first  thing  you  do  is  to 
get  yourself  into  all  kinds  of  trouble. 

MONiPODio. — Don  Fregoso  is  already  jealous  of  you — 

(QUINOLA. — Sarpi  will  do  his  utmost  to  ruin  you — 

MONIPODIO. — You  pose  as  a  giant  before  the  pigmies 
who  are  in  power!  Can't  you  wait  until  the  day  of 
success  before  displaying  your  pride?  Better  show 
yourself  insignificant,  humble,  subservient! 

QUINOLA. — You  want  glory,  sir?  It  has  to  be 
stolen — 

FONTANARES. — Must  I  dcmcau  myself  then? 

MONIPODIO. — Of  course  you  must,  if  you  want  to  rise! 

FON'TANARES. — Tactics  worthy  of  a  Sarpi!  I  will 
struggle  to  victory,  head  up  and  in  the  open!  Besides, 
what  obstacle  do  you  now  see  between  me  and  suc- 
cess' Am  I  not  going  to  the  harbor  to  chose  a  superb 
galley? 

QUINOLA. — Oh,  please,  sir,  not  a  galley!  I  have  u 
kind  of  superstition  against  galleys! 

F<<NrA  NARKS. — I  ask  you  again,  whore  are  the 
obstacles? 

QUixoLA. — You  never  saw  any,  even  in  our  worst 
moment —  Your  mind  is  always  in  the  clouds!  But 
now,  listen,  sir:  we  are  here  without  a  ducat,  living 
on  credit  at  a  wretched  tavern,  and  if  I  had   not  met 


OUINOT.A'S    RICSOURCES  IQS 

this  faithful   friend  we   should  not  have  a  decent  coat 
on  our  backs. 

I'ONTANAREs — What  is  all  that  if  she  only  loves  me! 
{J^ist  then  Marin  wares  a  handkerchief  out  of  the  window.) 
Look,  look,  my  star  is  shining  I 

(juiNOF.A. — Oh,  pshaw!  I  see  no  star,  just  a  'kerchief! 
Try  to  collect  enough  sense  to  listen  to  me.  What 
you  need,  instead  of  this  kind  of  saintly  maiden,  is  a 
woman  in  the  style  of  the  Marchioness  of  Mondejar — 
One  of  those  frail  creatures  as  hard  and  supple  as  a  steel 
blade,  who  find  in  love  all  the  inspirations  that  we  find 
in  poverty —     Oh,  if  only  the  Brancadori — 

FONTANARES. — If  you  Want  me  to  throw  up  the  whole 
matter,  here  and  now,  you  have  only  to  continue  in 
that  strain —  Understand,  once  for  all,  that  love  is 
my  whole  strength,  that  it  is  the  heavenly  ray  that 
illumines  my  path! 

QuiNOLA. — All  right,  all  right,  just  quiet  down,  sir. 

MONiPODio,  aside. — I  am  anxious  about  that  man — 
The  mechanics  of  love  seem  dearer  to  him  than  the 
love  of  mechanics. 


SCENE    XVIII 

The  Preceding.      Paquita. 

PAQuiTA,  io  Fontanares. — My  mistress,  sir,  sends  you 
word  that  you  must  be  cautious ;  for  you  have  already 
made  relentless  enemies. 

MONIPODIO. — It  will  be  my  business  to  protect  the 
seiior.  He  may  walk  the  streets  of  Barcelona  fear- 
lessly. When  any  one  plots  to  kill  him,  I'll  be  the  first 
tu  know. 


196  QUINOLAS    RRSOURCES 

FONTANARES. — What!     Such  dangers!     So  soon! 

PAQUiTA. — Have  you  no  message  for  my  mistress? 

guiNOLA. — My  dear  girl,  a  man  can't  be  thinking  of 
two  schemes  at  the  same  time —  Tell  your  heavenly 
mistress  that  my  master  kisses  her  feet.  For  me,  my 
sweet  one,  I  am  a  bachelor  about  to  settle  down.  {lie 
kisses  her.) 

PA(^)UiTA,  shipping  his  fi(cc. — Yoii  conceited  fellow! 

guiKOLA. — You  delightful  creature! 

{E.I  it   J'(iijui/a.) 


SCENE    XIX 

The  Prkckdi.nc,  i>ii)iiis  Pa(,)Uita. 

MONiPODio. — Now,  I'll  show  the  way  to  the  "Sol 
d'Oro."  I  know  the  tavern-keejicr;  he'll  give  you 
credit. 

(jUiNOLA. — The  fight  is  starting  earlier  than  I 
thought  it  would. 

FONTANARES. — But  whcrc  shall  we  find  the  money  we 
need? 

(juiNOLA. — If  we  can't  borrow  it,  we'll  have  to  buy  it. 
I  low  much  must  you  have? 

FONTANARES. — Two  thousand  doubloons. 

guiNOLA. — The  more  I  estimate  in  my  mind  the 
treasure  I  had  in  view,  the  less  I  think  it  will  reach 
that  figure. 

.MONii'oDM,  viakitif/  the  gesture  of  picking  up  some- 
thing.— \  declare,  if  it  isn't  a  purse! 

QUINOLA. — I  see;  nothing  escapes  you!  Now,  you, 
sir,  (sjunkiug  to   lum  tana  res)   need   ircMi,   copper,   steel. 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  197 

wood,  all  things  that  are  plentiful  in  the  stores — 
{He  thinks  deeply  for  a  short  while.)  ^  An  inspiration! 
These  things  we  have  no  money  to  buy,  the  firm  of 
Quinola  and  Company  will  sell  us!  If  it  fails  after 
you  have  been  successful,  what  does  it  matter? 

FONTANAREs. — Ah,  without  you,  what  would  become 
of  me? 

MONiPODio. — You'd  be  the  prey  of  Avaloros,  I'll 
wager — 

FONTANARES, — To  work,  then!  The  inventor  shall 
save  the  lover! 

(Curtain  on  First  Act.) 


ACT    SECOND 
(.J  (Irairiny-roum  in  t/ie  pulin.t  i>/  /'(iti.stinu  liraHvaduti.) 

SCENE     I 
AvALORos.      Sari'I.     Paquita, 

AVALOROS,  to  Pcifjuita. — Is  our  queen  really  ill? 

I'AQAiTA. — She  has  a  fit  of  the  blues. 

AVALOROS. — Sad  thoughts  are  almost  as  bad  as  a 
disease. 

PAQUITA. — Oh,  then,  i/ou  are  pretty  sure  of  beins;' 
always  in  capital  health  I 

SARin. — Paquita,  please,  go  to  my  fair  cousin  and 
tell  her  that  Sefior  Avaloros  and  I  are  awaiting  her 
good  pleasure. 

AVALOROS. — And  here  are  two  ducats  to  tell  her 
that— 

PAQUITA,  taking  the  moneij  laiig/iiufj. — To  tell  her 
what  a  generous  man  you  are.  I  think  I  can  induce 
Madame  to  dress  and  receive  you,  gentlemen. 

SCENE    II 

AvALokos.      Sarpi. 

SARHi. — Poor  Viceroy!  He  is  the  young  man  and  I 
am  the  old  fellow! 

AVALOROS. — While  your  little  cousin   makes  a  fool  of 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  199 

him,  you  display  the  shrewd  aetivity  of  a  true  states- 
man and,  for  your  King,  pave  the  way  to  the  con- 
quest of  French  Navarre.  Had  I  a  daughter  she 
should  be  yours  as  a  wife.  Old  Lotundiaz  is  no 
dotard. 

SARPi. — Ah,  if  only  I  could  be  the  founder  of  a  great 
house !  Write  my  name  in  the  annals  of  my  country ! 
Be  a  Cardinal  Granvelle  or  a  Duke  of  Alva! 

AVALOROS. — Yes,  it  would  be  splendid!  I  am  also 
thinking  of  acquiring  a  high  sounding  name  and  title. 
Didn't  the  Emperor  create  the  Fuggers,  Princes  of 
Babenhausen?  The  title  cost  them  a  million  ducats. 
I  intend  to  be  made  a  nobleman  for  much  less  money. 

SARPi. — And  how  will  you  do  it? 

AVALOROS. — This  Fontanares  holds  in  his  hands  the 
future  of  our  commerce. 

SARPI. — What!  You,  a  cold,  hard,  matter-of-fact 
man  of  business — you  believe  in  such  vagaries? 

AVALOROS. — Since  the  invention  of  powder  and  of 
printing  and  the  discovery  of  the  New  World,  I  have 
grown  credulous.  If  some  one  were  to  tell  me  now, 
that  he  had  found  a  means  of  obtaining  news  from 
Paris  in  ten  minutes'  time,  or  that  there  is  fire  in 
water,  or  that  there  are  more  Indies  yet  to  be  discov- 
ered, or  that  he  had  contrived  a  machine  for  navigat- 
ing the  air,  I  would  not  say,  offhand,  that  I  did  not 
believe  any  of  these  extraordinary  statements.  On 
the  contrary,  I  would  give — 

SARPL — ^Your  money? 

AVALOROS. — No,  my  attention  to  everyone  of  these — 
vagaries. 

SARPT. — I  see,  you  want  to  be  to  Fontanares  what 
Amerigo  Vespucci  has  been  to  Columbus? 


200  QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES 

AVAi.oRos. — Have  I  not  in  my  cash-box  enough 
money  to  buy  a  dozen  men  of  genius? 

SARi'i. — How  will  you  go  about  itl' 

AVAioRos. — Money  will  do  it  as  it  docs  everything 
else.  Who  has  money  to  lose  may  gain  all  the  time  he 
needs;  and,  with  time,  there  is  nothing  impossible. 
It  is  easy  enough  to  make  a  good  venture  look  most 
unpromising,  and,  while  the  original  promoters  are 
growing  desperate,  to  gobble  up  the  whole  scheme. 
Money  is  life.  With  money,  not  only  one's  needs,  but 
desires,  and  whims,  are  satisfied;  and,  in  a  man  of 
genius,  there  is  always  a  big  child  full  of  fancies; 
when  the  man  is  weary  with  ill-success,  the  child 
appears,  and  I  will  sec  that  tlie  child  is  soon  in  my  debt; 
then  the  man  of  genius  will  be  driven  to  the  bank- 
rupt's jail. 

SARPi. — How  far  have  you  gone  in  the  matter? 

AVALORos. — He  is  suspicious  of  my  olTcrs;  that  is, 
not  he,  exactly,  but  his  servant.  So  I  am  going  to 
treat  with  the  servant. 

SAKi'i. — Vou  ought  to  know,  then,  that  I  have  a  hold 
on  the  whole  matter.  I  received  a  peremptory  order 
to  send  all  the  ves.sels  at  Barcelona  to  the  coast  of 
France.  The  enemies  Fontanares  left  behind  him  in 
Valladolid  took  good  care  to  have  this  order  dated 
earlier  than  the  letter  of  the  King,  giving  him  a  ship. 

AVALOKOS. — What  share  do  you  want  in  the  business? 

SAKI'I. — The  office  of  Grand  Master  of  the  Naval 
Constructions. 

AVALOROS. — But  what  shall  I  liave  left? 

SARI'I. — The  glory! 

AVALOROS. — O  you  shrewd  schemer! 

SARPI — O  you  greedy  money-bag! 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  201 

AVALoKos. — Never  mind  for  the  present.  Let  us 
hunt  our  i,^;ime  together;  time  enough  to  quarrel 
about  division  when  the  profits  are  in  sight!  Your 
hand  on  it!  {Aside.)  I  am  the  stronger  man: 
through  the  Brancadori  I  hold  the  Viceroy. 

sARPi,  ((..side. — We  have  fattened  him  long  enough. 
It  soon  will  be  time  to  kill  him!  I  have  at  hand  the 
necessary  means. 

AVALORos,  aluud. — We  must  get  this  Quinola  on  our 
side.  I  sent  for  him  to  have  the  matter  settled  in  the 
presence  of  Signora  Brancadori. 


SCENE    III 

Thk  Precedinc^.      Quinola. 

QUINOLA,  lo  himself. — Here  I  am —  Between  two 
thieves!  But  these  are  powdered  over  with  virtues 
and  caparisoned  with  court  manner!  The  other  kind, 
they  hang! 

SARPI. — So,  here  you  are,  rascal.  Until  your  master 
invents  a  new  way  of  propelling  galleys  you  ought  to 
be  pulling  an  oar  on  one  of  them. 

QUINOLA. — Our  King,  wise  appreciator  of  merit  that 
he  is,  has  found  he  would  lose  too  much  by  the  bar- 
gain. 

SARPI. — You'll  be  closely  watched. 

QUINOLA. — No  doubt.     I'll  do  some  watching  myself. 

AVALOROS,  to  Sarpi. — You  are  frightening  the  man. 
He  is  an  honest  fellow.  {To  Quinola.)  Have  you  any 
idea  of  what  a  fortune  is? 

QUINOLA. — None  whatever.  I  always  have  seen  it  at 
too  long  range. 


202  QUINOLA'S    Ri:SOURCES 

AVAi.oKos. — Well  then,  something  like  two  thousand 
doubloons? 

QUiNOLA. — What  did  you  say?  Two  tliousand  doub- 
loons! I  am  dazzled!  Does  so  much  money  exist? 
Why,  it  would  be  enough  to  allow  one  to  have  one's 
own  house,  one's  own  servant  girl,  one's  own  wife, 
one's  own  revenues!  Why,  one  would  be  actually 
protected  by  the  police  instead  of  hunted  by  it!  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do? 

AVAi.oRos. — I  want  you  to  help  me  in  closing  with 
your  master  a  contract  advantageous  to  all  concerned. 

QuiNoi.A. — I  understand,  a  contract  that  will  bind 
him  tight!  Conscience  of  mine,  be  silent!  I'll  have 
to  forget  all  about  you  for  a  few  days,  and,  after  that, 
you  may  have  your  own  way  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 

AVALOROs,  to  Sarpi. — He  is  ours! 

SARPi. — I  am  not  so  sure!  He  would  not  be  so  flip- 
pant if  it  were  so. 

QUINOI.A. — 1  suppose  the  two  thousand  doubloons  are 
to  be  paid  to  mc  only  after  the  contract  is  actually 
signed? 

SARi'i,  qiiii-k-lij. — You  may  have  them  before  that. 

QUINOI.A. — All  right.  {SlrehhiiKj  nut  /ti.s  hand.)  I  am 
ready. 

AVALOkos. — In  exchange  for  notes  of  hand  signed  by 
your  master  and — ante-dated. 

<,)UiNOLA. — You  mean  past  due —  His  Highness  the 
Sultan  does  not  more  courteously  send  the  bowstring 
to  his  victims. 

SARPI. — Has  your  master  a  ship? 

QUINOI.A. — Valladolid  is  far,  Senor  Secretary,  but  we 
hold  there  a  pen  that  may  yet  sign  your  dismissal. 

s.\KrM    ^ril  crush  you  lirsl. 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCKS  203 

QuiNoi.A. — I'll  make   myself  so   flat   that   you   can't 
do  it. 

A\ALOROS. — Well,  rascal,  wiiat  do  yon  want  then? 
QuiNOLA. — Ah,  I  call  that  a  golden  speech! 


SCENE    TV 

The  Preckding,     Faustina.     Paquita. 
PAQUiTA. — Gentlemen,  here  is  Madame. 


SCENE   V 

The  PuECEDiNci,  //iint(>:  Paquita. 

QUINOLA,  waJkituj  rapidly  to  Fan.'^tlna  and  speaking  in 
fi  low  voice. — Madame,  my  master  speaks  of  killing  him- 
self if  he  is  not  given  the  ship  Connt  Sarpi  has  been 
refusing  him  for  a  whole  month.  And  Banker  Ava- 
loros  offers  him  a  purse  for  his  life —  Do  you  under- 
stand? {Aside.)  A  woman  saved  us  in  Valladolid, 
women  will  save  us  here.  (Aloud.)  ]\Iy  master  is 
very  sad,  ^Madame. 

avaloros. — The  scamp  has  plenty  of  audacity! 

QUINOLA. — And  without  money  to  back  him?  Isn't 
that  surprising? 

SARPI. — Enter  my  service. 

QUINOLA. — I  am  hard  to  please  when  it  comes  to 
choosing  a  master. 

FAUSTINA,  aside. — So,  he  is  sad!  (Aloud.)  What! 
You  Sarpi,   you,   Avaloros,  to  whom  I  have  been  so 


204  (JU INOLA'S   RlCSOrRClCS 

kind — all  \-ou  can  do  for  a  i)oor  nuin  of  j^^cnius  is  to 
persecute  him!  [Mimir  protests  from  Analurus  (tml 
Sarpi.)  Fi!  fi!  I  know  you.  {To  Qninola.)  Explain 
to  ine  in  detail  what  they  have  plotted  against  your 
master. 

SARPI. — My  dear  cousin,  it  is  not  difficult  to  ^uess 
what  has  been  ailing  you  since  the  arrival  of  this 
Fontanares. 

.AVAi.oRos. — Madame,  you  already  owe  me  two  thou- 
sand doubloons  and  you  doubtless  will  have  occasion 
to  call  again  upon  me  for  funds. 

FAUSTINA. — I?     Did  I  ever  ask  you  for  money? 

AVALOKOs. — You  ncvcr  did,  but  you  seemed  to 
accept  with  delight  what  it  was  my  i)leasure  to  offer 
you. 

FAUSTINA. — Your  mouopoly  of  the  wheat  trade  is  a 
monstrous  abuse. 

AVALOKOS — Madame,  I  uicc  you  two  thousand  doub- 
loons 

FAUSTINA. — Then  step  over  to  this  table  and  write 
me  a  receipt  in  full  for  the  two  thousand  doubloons 
you  said  I  owed  you  and  an  order  for  two  thou- 
sand more  which  I  shall  not  owe  you.  {To  Sarpi.) 
After  securing  through  me  the  position  you  now 
occupy,  you  would  be  a  poor  politician  if  you  did  not 
keep  these  matters  secret. 

SAKi'i. — I  am  under  too  great  obligations  to  you  ever 
to  turn  ingrate. 

1  AUSTiNA,  (iside.  —  He  means  just  the  opposite. 
He'll  send  me  the  Viceroy  in  a  rage. 

{Exit  Sarpi.) 


gUINULA'S   RliSUURCES  205 


scenp:  VI 

The  Precedinc;,  nii)ii/s  Sarpi. 

AVAi,OROs,  comiufi  fnivi  tlic  table  with  two  fthccls  of 
paper  m  his  huntl.  —  Mere  is  what  you  asked  for, 
Madame. 

FAUSTINA. — All  right. 

AVALOROS, — Not  enemies,  any  longer? 

FAUSTINA. — Your  whcat  monopoly  is  perfectly  legal. 

AVALOROS,  bowiuf/. — Ah,  Madame! 

QUiNOLA,  aside. — Now,  I  call  that  business. 

AVALOROS. — You  are,  Madame,  a  most  noble  lady, 
and  I  am — 

QUINOLA,  aside. — An  insatiable  bloodsucker. 

FAUSTINA,  ojfering  the  order  for  moneij  to  Quiiwla. — 
Take  this,  Quinola,  for  the  expenses  of  your  master's 
machine. 

AVALOROS. — Don't  let  him  have  it,  Madame,  he  might 
keep  it  for  himself.     Besides,  go  slow  in  this  matter — 

QUINOLA,  aside. — They  make  me  jump  from  the 
torrid  zone  to  icy  Greenland!     What  a  gamble  life  is! 

FAUSTINA,  to  A  valor  OS. —  Yon  are  right.  {Aside.)  I 
prefer  to  be  the  arbiter  of  Fontanares'  fate.  (To 
Avaloros.)  But  if  you  want  to  keep  your  monopoly, 
not  a  word  of  this. 

AVALOROS. — Capital  is  always  discreet.  [Aside.) 
These  creatures  are  shrewd  enough  as  long  as  they  are 
not  in  love.  This  one  must  be  disposed  of  in  short 
order;  she  is  growing  too  expensive!     {Exit  Avaloros.) 


2o6  OUINOLA'S   RESOURCES 

SCENE    VH 

Faustina.     Ouinola. 

FAUSTINA. — Did  you  say  that  lie  was  sad? 

yuiNOLA. — Alas,  everything  seems  to  be  against 
him!  {During  the  dialogue  that  follows  th^rc  is  a  by-play 
hclwecn  Faustina  wlin  still  holds  the  hanl-':r's  order  in  her 
handy  and  Quinola,  who  is  trying  to  get  j)Ossession  of  it.) 

FAUSTINA. — But  he  knows  how  to  struggle! 

•juiNOLA. — That  struggle  has  now  lasted  two  years; 
sometimes  we  have  sunk  to  the  very  bottom,  and,  I  tell 
you,  the  bottom  is  confoundedly  hard. 

FAUSTINA. — Yes,  but  what  strength,  what  genius  he 
has  displayed ! 

QUiNoi.A. — You  see  in  this,  Madame,  the  power  of 
love. 

KAUsriNA. — And  who  is  he  in  love  with  now? 

QuiNOLA. — He  always  has  been  constant  to  Senorita 
Maria  Lotundiaz. 

FAUSTINA. — That  doll? 

QUiNOLA. — A  mere  doll! 

FAUSTINA. — Men  of  talent  are  all  alike. 

ouiNOLA. — Bronze  colossi  with  feet  of  clay. 

FAUSTINA. — They  endow  the  creature  they  love  with 
all  sorts  of  merits  of  their  own  creation,  and  they  love 
her  the  more  on  that  account. 

QUINOI.A,  aside. — Exactly  the  way  women  do! 
{Aloud.)  For  my  part,  Madame,  I  wish  this  doll  were 
at  the  bottom —     I  mean  behind  the  bars  of  a  convent. 

FAUSTINA. — You  look  like  a  pretty  decent  fellow. 

ijuiNoLA. — I  am  fond  of  my  master. 

KAUSTINA,    //•////   .'•tiiiir   dillJilrurr. — Do    yOU    Ihiul: — hc  — 

lias  noticed  nw ; 


OUINOLA'S    RESOUKCKS  207 

QUiNOLA. — Not  yet. 

FAUSTINA. — Speak  of  me  to  him. 

QUINOLA. — When  I  have  done  so,  he  has  threatened 
me  with  his  stick.     You  see,  Madame,  this  ijirl — 

FAUSTINA, — This  girl  must  be  lost  to  him  forever. 

cjuiNOLA. — Suppose  it  kills  him? 

FAUSTINA. — He  is  as  fond  of  her  as  that? 

QUINOLA. — I  am  sure  it's  not  my  fault!  On  our  way 
from  Valladolid  to  this  place,  I  kept  telling  him  that  a 
man  like  him  must  adore  all  women  but  never  be 
devoted  to  any  one  in  particular! 

FAUSTINA,  with  a  half  smile. — You  are  a  wicked 
adviser!  Now  you  go  over  to  the  house  of  Lotundiaz 
and  tell  him  to  come  over  here  with  his  daughter. 
[Aside.)     Into  a  convent  she  shall  go! 

QUINOLA,  ((■■<icle. — Here  is  our  worst  enemy!  She 
loves  us  too  much  not  to  do  us  terrible  harm !  (As 
Qniuola  leaves  the  room  he  meets  Don  Fregoso  entering.) 


SCENE    VITI 

Faustina.      Don  Fregoso. 

DON  fregoso. — So,  while  waiting  for  the  master,  you 
busy  yourself  corrupting  the  servant! 

FAUSTINA. — Ought  a  woman  to  lose  the  practice  of 
her  seductive  power? 

DON  FREGOSO. — Madame,  you  are  really  too  free- 
handed with  your  favors.  I  thought  that  a  Venetian 
patrician  might,  at  least,  spare  the  feelings  of  an  old 
soldier. 

FAUSTINA. — 1  declare,  My  Lord,  you  are  getting  more 


3o8  gUlNOLA'S    RESOTTRCKS 

out  of  your  white  locks  than  a  younij^  man  out  of  his 
shining-  hair,  and  they  help  your  more  tlian  -  {S/ic. 
laughs.)     Oh,  drop  this  frown! 

DON  FREGOso. — How  cau  I  look  otherwise,  wlien  I 
see  you  whom  I  wish,  some  day,  to  call  my  wife,  eom- 
])romise  yourself  so  recklessly!  Is  it  nothinjj;  to  l)e 
invited  to  bear  such  an  illustrious  name? 

FAUSTINA. — Is  it  too  illustrious  for  a  daughter  of  the 
Brancadoris? 

DON  FREGOSo. — And  you  prefer  to  descend  to  the 
level  of  a  FontanaresI 

FAUSTINA. — But  suppose  he  raises  himself  up  to  me? 
What  a  proof  of  his  love!  Besides,  don't  you  know 
that  love  is  no  logician? 

DON  FRLcioso. — Then,   you  acknowledge  everything? 

FAUSTINA. — You  are  too  much  my  friund  for  me  not 
to  tell  you  all  my  secrets. 

DON  FRKGOSo. — All!  Madame,  Madame!  A  love  like 
mine,  must  be  sure  evidence  of  insanity — I  give  up  to 
you  more  than  my  own  self!  Alas,  if  only  I  had  a 
world  to  offer  you!  Do  you  know  that  your  picture 
gallery — to  speak  of  nothing  else,  has  cost  me  a  for- 
tune? 

FAUSTINA. — Pacjuita! 

Df)N  FKEooso. — And  that  I  would  give  you  everything 
on  earth,  even  U)  my  honor! 

SCENE    IX 

TnF  Pki.(:ki)1N(;.      Pa(.)UIta. 

FAUSTINA,  to  Pdf/Jitfa. — Tell  my  majordomo  to  have 
all  the  pictures  in  the  gallery  sent  back  to  I  )on  Frego- 
so's  palace. 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  209 

DON  KRECrOSo. — Paquita,  do  not  give  this  order! 

FAUSTINA. — They  tell  that  the  other  day  Queen 
Catherine  de'  Medici  sent  word  to  Madame  Diana  of 
Poitiers,  to  deliver  to  her  messenger  all  the  jewels 
King  Henry  II.  had  given  her;  the  lady  Diana  had 
them  all  melted  into  one  ingot  and  thus  returned  to 
the  Queen.     Paquita,  send  for  a  jeweler. 

DON  FREGOso,  to  PiKjuita. — Do  nothing  of  the  sort, 
and  leave  the  room. 

{Exit  Paquita.) 


SCENE    X 

The  Precedino,  lubivs  Paquita. 

FAUSTINA. — Since  I  am  not  yet  the  Marchioness  of 
Fregoso,  how  do  you  dare  order  my  servants  about! 

DON  iRixioso. — I  am  the  one  to  be  ordered  about,  of 
course!  Is  my  fortune  worth  a  word  from  you?  Par- 
don me  an  expression  of  impatience! 

FAUSTINA. — One  ought  to  be  a  gentleman  even  in  the 
moments  of  greatest  impatience!  You  speak  to  me  as 
you  would  to  a  courtesan  !  So  you  wish  to  be  adored! 
Why,  the  humblest  of  Venetian  women  would  tell  you 
that  it  comes  high ! 

DON  FREGOSO. — I  dcscTved  this  outburst  of  cruel 
anger ! 

FAUSTINA. — You  Say  you  love !  Why,  to  love  is  to  be 
devoted  without  even  the  hope  of  further  reward;  to 
love  is  to  live  under  the  rays  of  a  sun  one  is  afraid  even 
to  approach!     Do  not  dare  to  dress  your  selfish  desires 


2IO  QUIN'OLA'S    RKSOURCES 

in  the  splendid  garments  of  true  love  I  A  married 
wf^nian,  Laura  de  Nova,  said  to  Petrarch,  the 
immortal  poet  "Thou  shalt  be  mine  witlK)ut  hope  and 
remain  through  life  without  love."  And  Italy 
crowned  with  laurels  the  sublime  lover  when  it  hon- 
ored the  poet,  and  centuries  to  come  will  worship  at 
the  shrine  of  Laura  and  Petrarch  I 

DON  KREi;oso. — I  ucvcr  was  particularly  fond  of 
poets,  but  this  one  I  hate!  To  the  end  of  the  world, 
women  who  want  to  keep  a  lover  and  give  him  no 
return,  will  throw  this  story  in  the  faces  of  their 
adorers. 

KAL'STiNA. — They  say  you  were  a  general;  you  are 
nothing  but  a  common  soldier! 

D(tN  FRROoso. — Well,  then,  in  what  way  can  I  imitate 
this  cursed  Petrarch' 

FAUSTINA. — If  you  truly  love  me,  you  will  spare  :i 
man  of  genius  (Don  Frei/oso  sfarfs  back)  tlie  martyr- 
dom these  pigmies  have  in  store  for  him.  Be  gener- 
ous; help  him  on.  It  will  cause  you  some  suffering,  I 
know  it  will,  but  if  you  act  in  this  wise  I  shall  begin 
to  believe  in  the  reality  of  your  love,  and,  besides, 
this  action  will  make  you  more  famous  than  even  your 
storming  of  Mantua! 

DON  KRKGOso. — When  you  are  speaking,  nothing 
seems  impossible,  but  you  have  no  idea  of  my  rage 
once  you  are  gone ! 

FAUSTINA. --So,  you  ftud  no  pleasure  obeying  me? 

DON  FRKGoso. — TcIl  uie,  you  protect  him,  you  admire 
him,  but  you  do  not  love  him? 

FAUSTINA. — They  will  not  deliver  to  him  the  ship 
granted  by  the  King;  you  will  order  it  placed  at  his 
disposal  at  once,  without  reserve? 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  21  T 

DON  FREGoso. — Yes,  I  vvill,  and  send  him  to  you  to 
render  thanks  I 

FAUSTINA. — Ah,  that's  the  way  I  love  you! 

{Exit  Don  Fregofio.) 


SCENE   XI 

FAUSTINA,    alone. — When    I    think    that    there    are 
women  who  wish  they  were  men ! 


SCENE    XII 

Faustina.      Paquita.    Lotundiaz.      Maria. 

PAQUiTA. — Madame,  here  are  Senor  Lotundiaz  and 
his  daughter.      [Eccit  Paquita.) 


SCENE    XIII 

The  Preceding,  mimiyi  Paquita. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — Ah,  Madame !  You  have  made  a  king's 
palace  out  of  this  mansion ! 

FAUSTINA,  to  Maria. — Come  and  sit  down  close  to 
me,  child.      {To  Lotundiaz.)     Take  a  seat,  sir 

LOTUNDIAZ. — A  thousand  thanks,  Madame;  but, 
with  your  permssion,  I  should  be  much  pleased  to  visit 
the  famous  picture  gallery  which  is  the  talk  of  the 
whole  province. 

{Faustina  nods  assent  and   Lotnndiaz  leaves  the  room.) 


gUINOLA'S    KIvSCJURClCS 


SCENE    XIV 

Faustina.       Makia. 

FAUSTINA. — My  dear  child,  I  am  very  fond  of  you 
and  happen  to  know  the  position  yon  are  in.  Your 
father  wants  you  to  marry  my  cousin,  Sarpi,  while 
your  heart  belongs  to  Fontanares. 

MARIA. — It  does  belong  to  him,  Madame!  And  it 
has  for  five  long  years  I 

FAUSTINA. — At  sixteen,  does  one  know  how  to  love? 

MARIA. — What  has  age  to  do  with  it,  since  I  do  love 
him? 

FAUSTINA. — Love,  my  little  angel,  for  us  women, 
means  absolute  devotion. 

.MARIA. — I  am   absolutely  devoted  to  him,  Madame. 

FAUSTINA. — If  it  be  so,  would  you  give  yourself  up 
for  his  sake,  to  save  him  ? 

MARIA. — It  would  be  like  death,  but  my  life  is  his. 

FAUSTINA,  aside  as  she  rises. — How  strong  is  the 
weakness  of  innocence!  (Aloud.)  Y(ju  never  have 
been  away  from  your  fatlier's  house;  you  know  noth- 
ing of  the  world  and  of  its  necessities,  which  are  ter- 
rible! Often  a  man  is  ruined  because  he  meets  a 
woman  who  loves  him  too  dearly,  or  a  woman  who 
loves  him  not  enough !  Perhaps  Fontanares  is  in  that 
very  position  !  1 1  is  enemies  are  powerful ;  the  glory, 
which  he  prizes  more  than  life  itself,  is  at  their  mercy 
— you,  alone,  may  disarm  them! 

.MARIA. — I!     And  what  can  I  do? 

FAUSTINA. — Marry  Sarpi  and  you  will  assure  the 
triumph  of  Fontanares.  But  it  is  not  a  woman's  part 
to  counsel  such  a  sacrifice.     You  ouglit  to  act  at  first 


QUINOr.A'S    RKSOl'RCES  213 

with  much  shrewdness.  For  instance,  you  might 
retire,  for  a  while,  to  a  convent — 

MARIA. — A  convent!  Not  see  him  any  more!  If 
you  only  knew,  Madam —  Every  morning,  he  passes  in 
front  of  my  window  and  that  moment  fills  my  whole 
day ! 

FAUSTINA,  aside. — How  she  stabs  me  imwittingly! 
Oh,  she  shall  be  Countess  Sarpi! 

(Fii/i/d/tan's  e/iirrs.) 


SCENE    XV 

The  Preceuinc.      Fontanares. 

FONTANARES,  fo  ?\tusiiua. — Ah,  Madame!  {fie  lii^se!^ 
Jirr  ]ia)ul.) 

MARIA,  whom  he  has  not  see?i,  aside. — Oh,  what  a  pang! 

FONTANARES. — Shall  I  cver  live  long  enough  to  prove 
to  you  the  depth  of  my  gratitude !  If  ever  I  reach  any 
fame,  if  ever  happiness  smiles  upon  me,  I  shall  owe  it  to 
your  intervention ! 

FAUSTINA. — Oh,  what  I  have  done  so  far  is  nothing; 
from  now  on,  I  am  going  to  make  the  roads  smooth  for 
you !  I  feel  so  much  sympathy  for  the  troubles  that 
assail  men  of  talent  that  you  :nay  count  upon  me 
implicitly.  I  would  almost  consent  to  be  your  step- 
ping-stone to  the  crown  you  deserve. 

MARIA,  pnUinff  at  FuiUanares'  cloak. — I  am  here  also, 
{lie  turns  aronnd)  and  you  never  suspected  it! 

FONTANARES. — Maria!  I  have  not  spoken  to  you  for 
ten  days!  {To  Fansfi/ui.)  Ah,  Madame,  you  are 
truly  an  angel! 


2  14  gUINOLA'S    Ri:S()URCES 

MARIA. — She  is  a  demon  I  Why,  she  w:is  just  advis- 
ing me  to  enter  a  convent  I 

FONTANARES. — She  was? 

MARIA. — She  was! 

FAUSTINA. — But,  children  that  yon  are,  don't  yon  see 
that  it  must  come  to  that. 

Ko.NTANARES. — I  scc  that  I  am  thrown  from  one  pit- 
fall into  another,  and  that  every  new  favor  conceals  a 
trap!     (yo  Maria.)     Who  brou,t,dit  you  here? 

MARIA. — My  father. 

FONTANARES. — YouT  father!  Has  he  lost  his  senses? 
You,  Maria,  in  this  house ! 

FAUSTINA. — Sir! 

FONTANARKS. — And  they  want  to  lock  you  up  in  a 
convent,  to  break  your  spirit;  to  torture  your  soul' 


SCENE    aVI 

The  Prkceding.      Lotundiaz. 

FONTANARES. — How  darc  you  bring  this  angel  of 
])urity  in  the  house  of  a  woman  for  whom  Don  Fregoso 
spends  all  his  fortune,  and  who  accepts  his  extrava- 
gant gifts  without  marrying  him? 

FAUSTINA. — Sir! ! 

FONTANARES. — I  know  youT  history  well,  Madame. 
You  came  here,  the  widow  of  a  penniless  younger  son 
of  the  house  of  Brancadori,  for  whose  sake  you  had 
squandered  your  own  fortune.  You  have  changed 
your  ways  since — 

FAUSTINA. — And  what  right  have  you  to  pass  judg- 
ment upon  me,  sir? 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  215 

lotundia;:. — I  command  you  to  be  silent.  Madame 
is  a  lady  of  noble  birth  who  has  almost  doubled  the 
value  of  the  palace  she  deigns  to  inhabit. 

FONTANARES. — She!     A  noble  lady!     Why,  she  is — 

FAUSTINA. — Not  a  word  more! 

LOTUNDiAz. — My  daughter,  look  now  at  your  man  of 
genius,  extreme  in  everything,  even  in  trifles,  and 
nearer  insanity  than  common  sense.  ]\Iister  Machinist, 
Madame  is  the  cousin  and  the  patroness  of  Count  Sarpi. 

FONTANARES. — I  repeat  to  you,  take  your  daughter 
away  from  the  house  of  the  Marchioness  of  Mondejar 
of  Catalonia! 

{Ez&iuit  Lotundiaz  and  Maria.) 


SCENE  XVII 

Faustina.     Fontanares. 

FONTANARES. — I  See  it  all  nov/,  Madame!  Your 
generosity  was  but  a  scheme  to  help  along  the  preten- 
sions of  Sarpi?     That  makes  us  quits —     Good-by! 


SCENE   XVIII 

Faustina.      Paquita. 

FAUSTINA. — Paquita,  how  splendidly  handsome  he 
is  in  his  anger! 

PAQUITA. — But,  Madame,  what  is  to  become  of  you  if 
you  love  him  so  madly? 

FAUSTINA. — Child,  I  have  just  discovered  that  I 
never  loved  before!  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  been 
transformed,  in  an  instant,   by  a  flash  of  lightning! 


ri6  oriXOLAS    Ki^SorRCES 

In  a  minute  I  have  loved  for  all  the  time  I  have  lost! 
Still,  I  may  be  close  to  a  terrible  abyss.  »Send  one  of 
the  servants  to  Magis,  the  Lombard,  and  tell  him  to 
come  here  at  once. 


vSCENE    XIX 

FAUSTINA,  alnnc. — I  love  him  too  much  to  confide  my 
revenge  to  Monipodio's  stiletto!  And  he  showed  his 
contempt  for  me  so  cruelly  that  I  must  make  him 
realize  that  in  getting  mc  as  his  wife  he  is  receiving 
the  greatest  honor  of  his  life!  Either  he  shall  humble 
himself  in  the  dust  at  my  feet,  or  I  will  crush  us  both 
in  the  struggle. 


SCENE    XX 

Faustina.      Don  Frkgoso. 

DON  FRKOoso. — I  thought  I  would  surely  find  Fonta- 
nares  here,  overfiowing  with  gratitude.  For  we  have 
let  him  have  his  ship. 

FAUSTINA. — You  havc  given  it  to  him?  Then  you 
do  not  hate  him  after  all?  I  imagined  you  would  find 
the  sacrifice  above  your  strength.  It  was  a  test  of 
mine  to  discover  whether  there  was  in  you  more  love 
than  submission. 

DON  KKKGoso. — Why,  Madame! 

FAUsiiN\. — And  now,  can  you  take  it  away  from 
him? 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  217 

DON  FREGoso. — Whether  I  obey  or  disobey  it  seems 
as  if  I  can  never  please  you !  I  do  not  see  how  the 
ship  can  be  taken  away  from  him  now ;  he  already  has 
begun  work,  and  the  vessel  is  full  of  his  men. 

FAUSTINA. — Do  you  uot  Understand  that  I  hate  him 
and  that  I  wish  his — 

DON  FREGOSO. — His  death? 

FAUSTINA. — No;  his  shameful  failure! 

DON  FKicGoso. — So  I  shall  be  able  at  last  to  have  my 
revenge  for  this  month  of  torture! 

FAUSTINA. — Do  not  darc  touch  the  object  of  my 
hatred!  I  will  attend  to  him  in  my  own  way!  To 
begin  with,  Don  Fregoso,  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
remove  to  your  palace  my  whole  picture  gallery. 
{Do7i  Fregoso  starts  back,  amazed.)  I  want  this  done  at 
once. 

DON  FREGOSO. — You  decHnc  then  to  be  Marchioness 
of— 

FAUSTINA. — If  you  do  not  remove  the  canvasses  this 
very  day,  I  will  have  them  burned  on  the  public  square 
or  sold  at  auction  for  the  benefit  of  the  hospital ! 

DON  FREGOSO. — And  what  is  your  reason  for  this  mad 
outburst? 

FAUSTINA. — I  am  thirsting  for  honor,  and  you  have 
compromised  my  good  name,  Don  Fregoso! 

DON  FRKGoso. — If  you  acccpt  iny  hand,  everything 
will  be  set  right. 

FAUSTINA. — I  beg  you  to  leave  me  to  myself! 

DON  FREGOSO. — Ah,  the  more  power  I  place  in  5^our 
hands  the  worse  you  abuse  it!     {Exit  Don  Fregoso.) 


2i8  QUINOLAS  RESOURCES 


SCENE    XXI 

FAUSTINA,  alone. — So  I  am  nothing  but  the  Viceroy's 
mistress!  The  word  almost  escaped  his  lips!  Ah,  I 
am  going  to  hatch,  with  the  aid  of  Avaloros  and  Sarpi, 
a  revenge  worthy  of  old  Venice! 


SCENE    XXII 

Faustina.      Matecj  Magis. 

MAGis. — Does  Madame  require  my  humble  services? 

FAUSTINA. — Who  are  you? 

.^^Ac;Is. — Mateo  Magis,  a  poor  Lombard,  from  Milan, 
and  your  servant. 

FAUSTINA. — Do  you  loan  money? 

MAGIS. — Sometimes — sometimes.  But  only  on  excel- 
lent security:  diamonds,  gold  ingots  and  the  like. 
Ah,  business  is  hard,  hard.  Lady.  It  is  difficult  work 
to  raise  a  crop  out  of  one's  few  maravedis.  A  single 
bad  deal  swallows  the  profits  of  ten  fairly  good  ones, 
for  we  often  risk  a  thousand  doubloons  in  the  hands  of 
a  spendthrift  for  the  sake  of  making  a  paltry  three 
hundred  doubloons  interest.  That's  what  makes  bor- 
rowing so  expensive.  People  are  so  unfair  in  their 
opinion  of  us! 

FAUSTINA. — Are  you  a  Jew? 

MAGIS. — How  do  you  mean  it.  Lady? 

FAUSTINA. — A  Jew  in  religion? 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  219 

MAGis. — No,  Lady,  I  am  a  Lombard  and  a  good 
Catholic. 

FAUSTINA. — Oh,  I  am  sorry  for  that! 

MAGIS. — Madame  would  have  preferred! — 

FAUSTINA. — I  should  havc  preferred  to  have  you 
within  the  reach  of  the  Holy  Inquisition. 

MAGIS. — And  why? 

FAUSTINA. — To  feel  sure  of  your  discretion. 

MAGIS. — I  have  many  a  secret  locked  up  in  my  safe, 
Lady. 

FAUSTINA. — If  I  only  had  your  fortune  in  my  pos- 
session— 

MAGIS. — Then  you  would  own  my  very  soul,  Madame. 

FAUSTINA,  aside. — Only  the  hope  of  gain  will  attach 
him  to  me.     { Aloud.)     You  loan — 

MAGis. — At  a  fair  interest,  yes,  Madame. 

FAUSTINA. — You  misundcrstood  me.  I  mean — you 
loan  the  use  of  your  name  to  Senor  Avaloros,  do  you 
not? 

MAGis. — I  have  the  honor  of  the  acquaintance  of 
Senor  Avaloros;  we  do  business  together.  But  his 
name  is  too  strong  and  his  credit  along  the  Mediter- 
ranean coast  too  well-established  for  him  to  ever  need 
the  assistance  of  poor  Magis  — 

FAUSTINA. — I  see,  my  Lombard  friend,  you  can  be 
discreet.  Now  I  want  to  use  your  name  in  an  affair  of 
the  utmost  importance — 

MAGIS. — A  matter  of  smuggling? 

FAUSTINA. — Never  mind  what  it  is  about,  just  yet. 
What  guarantee  can  you  give  me  of  your  absolute 
devotion? 

MAGIS. — None  better  than  the  profit  there  may  be  in 
it  for  me. 


220  OUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 

FAUSTINA,  ^.s/rfc. — What  a  jackal  I  {Alnml.)  Well, 
then,  come  into  this  other  room  with  me,  and  I'll  place 
in  your  possession  a  secret  on  which  a  life  depends.  I 
will  give  you  a  great  man  to  devour. 

.MAGis. — My  small  business  is  fed  by  great  passions. 
{Aside.)     Fine  woman,  fine  profit. 

(Curtain  on  Second  Act.) 


THIRD   ACT 

(The  starjc  represents  the  inside  of  a  stable,  emptied  of  horses 
and  ivaqons.  On  an  upper  platform,  piles  of  hay;  along  the 
walls,  wheels,  tidies,  pivots,  sundry  pieces  of  incomplete  viaehin- 
ery:  on  the  floor,  a  long  brass  smoke-stacic,  and  a  huge  iron 
bailer.  To  the  left,  a  sculptured  2)ill<t>',  ti'ith  a  Madonna  on  the 
top.  To  the  right,  a  table  laden  with  papers,  parchments,  books, 
niathetaatical  instruments,  di'awings,  etc.  Again.'it  the  rcall,  over 
the  fable,  a  blackboard.  On  the  table,  next  to  a  lamp,  dry  bread 
and  a  feio  onions  irith  a  pitcher  of  irater.  To  the  right,  the  large 
stable  door;  to  the  left,  a  smaller  door  opening  upon  a  field.  A 
bed  of  straw  at  the  feet  of  the  Madonna.  When  the  curtain  rises, 
it  is  night-time  and  Fontanares  is  discovered  ivHtingat  the  table, 
dressed  in  a  long  black  gown.  Near  him,  Quinola  is  standing 
verifying  pieces  of  mach  inery. ) 


SCENE     I 

Fontanares.     Quinola. 

QUINOLA. — But  I,  also,  sir,  have  been  in  love!  Only, 
the  moment  I  began  to  understand  woman,  I  said 
good-by  to  the  sweet  deceiver!  Food  and  drink  of 
the  best,  that's  what  I  prefer  to  her  a  hundred  times; 
for  they  never  cheat  and  they  fatten  one  besides.  {He 
h)ok:.'<  at  /u'.s  master.)  He  does  not  even  hear  me !  Here 
are  three  more  pieces  ready  for  the  forge.  {He  opens 
fl/c  yinaUer  donr.)     Eh!   Monipodio! 


2  22  QUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

SCENE    II 

The  Preceding.     Monipodio. 

QUiNOLA. — Th«  last  three  pieces  have  come  back. 
Here  are  the  patterns,  take  them  to  our  men  and  have 
two  duplicates  forg^ed,  to  be  on  hand  in  case  of  acci- 
dent. {}fnnip()(lio  makes  a  sign  toward  the  open  field ;  ttno 
men  appear  at  onrc  on  the  threshold.) 

.MONiPooio,  handi)!;/  them  the  parts  one  Inj  one.  —  Here 
you  are,  and  off  with  you,  boys.  Mind,  no  noise;  this 
is  more  risky  than  any  burglary.  {The  men  vanish  in 
the  dark.)     It's  getting  pretty  hard  work,  I  tell  you! 

QUINOLA. — Nobody  suspects  anything  yet? 

MONiPODio. — Not  a  soul;  neithcy  our  men  nor  any 
outsider.  Each  part,  when  completed,  is  wrapped  up 
like  a  jewel,  and  stored  in  the  cellar.  But  I  need 
lliirty  ducats. 

(juiNOLA. — O  Lord! 

MONIPODIO. — Thirty  fellows  the  size  of  my  boys  cat 
ind  drink  like  sixty. 

tjL'iNOLA. — The  firm  of  Ouinola  and  Company  is 
bankrupt  and  they  are  after  me — 

MONIPODIO. — Protests? 

(."UiNOLA. — Nothing  so  insignificant!  No,  orders  of 
arrest,  if  you  please!  But  I  picked  up  at  the  old- 
clothes  store  a  few  disguises  that  will  keep  Quinola 
out  of  the  claws  of  the  sharpest  alguazils  until  I  am 
ready  to  settle  my  debts. 

MONIPODIO. — Settle  your  debts!     Don't  be  a  fool! 

QUINOLA. — Oh,  I  have  kept  something  to  draw  upon 
I  want  you  to  resume    your    mendicant   friar's  cowl 
and  call  upon  our  virtuous  duenna.  Dona  Lopez. 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  223 

MONiPODio. — T  say,  Lopez  has  been  so  often  about  to 
return  from  Algiers  that  his  wife  has  well-nigh  lost 
faith  in  my  news. 

QUiNOLA. — This  time  I  only  want  this  letter  deliv- 
ered to  Senorita  Maria  Lotundiaz.  {He  hands  Moni- 
podio  a  letter.)  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  eloquence, 
dictated  by  that  inspirerof  all  masterpieces:  Famine! 
We  now  have  been  for  a  week  on  a  diet  of  bread  and 
water. 

MONIPODIO. — And  we,  over  there — do  you  think  we 
are  living  off  the  fat  of  the  land?  If  our  men  thought 
they  were  not  mixed  up  in  a  dangerous  business,  they 
would  have  quit  long  ago. 

QUINOLA. — If  only  Love  consents  to  honor  the  draft 
I  am  drawing  upon  him  in  this  letter,  we'll  get  out  of 
it  all  right,  yet — 

{Exit  Monipodio.) 


SCENE    III 

QuiNOLA.       FONTANARKS, 

QUINOLA,  ruhlnng  his  bread  with  an  onion. — They  say 
this  is  the  kind  of  food  that  was  given  to  the  builders 
of  the  Egyptian  Pyramids;  then  they  must  have  had 
the  same  kind  of  seasoning  that  makes  it  palatable  for 
us :  Faith,  and  lots  of  it !  {He  takes  a  drinh  of  water 
from  the  jug.)  Are  you  not  hungry,  sir?  Take  care — 
your  mental  machinery  may  go  to  pieces  before  the 
other  is  completed. 

FONTANARES. — I  have  One  more  difficulty  to  solve. 

QUINOLA,   whose  coat   cracks    under  the  armpit  as  he 


224  gUINOLAS    RKSUURCES 

nti.^eii  (he  J /If/. — And  T  feel  one  more  lack  of  continuity 
in  mj'  only  coat  I  If  this  thing  continues  much  longer, 
my  clothes  will  reach  a  mathematical  minus. 

KONTANARES. — You  good  fcllow !  Alvvavs  cheerful 
in  the  darkest  hours! 

(ji/'iNOLA. — Cheerful?  Of  course,  sir.  Why,  Fortune 
is  as  fond  of  merry  fellows  as  meiTy  fellows  are  fond 
of  Fortune! 


SCENE    IV 

The  Preceding.      Mateo  Magis. 

QUINOLA. — Ah,  here  comes  our  Lombard.  He  looks 
at  our  pieces  of  machinery  as  if  they  were  already  his 
by  valid  purchase. 

MAGis. — My  dear  Sefior  Fontanarcs.  I  am  your  very 
humble  servant. 

QUINOLA.  —  He  is  just  like  marble:  polished,  dry  and 
cold. 

KONTANARES,  rnttiynj  a  piece  of  bread. — Oood-morning, 
Senor  Magis. 

•MAGIS. — You  are  a  man  of  sublime  intellect,  and,  for 
my  part,  I  wish  you  nothing  but  good. 

KONiANAREs. — That's  why,  I  suppose,  you  do  me 
nothing  but  harm' 

.MAGis. — This  is  an  unkind  speech,  sir,  and  unfair 
besides.  You  do  not  know  that  there  are  two  men 
within  me. 

FONTANAREs. — I  nevcT  met  the  other  one. 

MA(;i.-;. — Outside  of  business  I  am  full  of  heart. 

QLiNoi.A. — Yts,  but  you  are  never  outside  of  busi- 
ness. 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCICS  225 

MAGis. — Now  I  admire  you  greatly,  yes  I  admire 
both  of  you  in  your  hard  struggle. 

FONTANARES. — Admiration  is  the  sentiment  men  tire 
of  quickest.  Besides,  you  do  not  loan  money  on  admi- 
lation. 

-MAOis. — There  are  profitable  sentiments  and  there 
are  ruinous  sentiments.  In  your  case,  faith  is  the 
dominant  feeling  and  it  will  ruin  you.  Six  months 
ago,  we  entered  into  an  agreement:  you  asked  me  to 
supply  you  with  three  thousand  ducats  for  your 
experiments — 

QUiNOLA. — And  we  bound  ourselves  to  return  you 
five  thousand  ducats. 

FONTANARES. Well? 

MAGIS. — The  time  expired  two  months  ago. 

KUNTANARES. — Ycs,  and  you  summoned  us  in  court 
the  very  next  day  after  the  bill  fell  due. 

.MAGIS. — I  didn't  mean  to  be  hard;  I  took  my  pre- 
cautions; that's  all. 

FONTANARES. What  UCXt? 

MAGIS. — To-day  you  are  my  judgment  debtor. 

FONTANARES. — Eight  mouths  already  elapsed !  They 
went  like  a  dream !  And  only  last  night  did  I  solve 
the  problem  of  the  cold  water  supply  to  my  boiler! 
Magis,  be  my  friend,  my  protector,  grant  me  a  few 
more  days! 

MAGIS. — All  the  delay  you  need. 

QUINOLA. — What?  Is  this  possible?  Why,  -we 
are  going  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your  other  self, 
after  all!  [To  Fontanares.)  That's  the  only  Magis 
I'd  care  to  know!  {To  Magis.)  Well,  then,  Magis 
No.  2,  a  few  doubloons,  please. 

FONTANARES. — At  last,  a  breathing  spell! 


2-^6  QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 

MAGis.— It's  all  very  simple.  To-day  I  am  not  only 
a  money-lender  but  a  co-owner  as  well,  and  I  want  to 
get  all  I  can  out  of  my  property, 

guiNOLA. — Ah,  the  wretched  cur! 

FOXTANAREs. — You  dou't  mean  it? 

MAGIS. — You  see,  capital  has  no  faith — 

QUiNOLA. — Neither  hope  nor  charity.  Capital  is  not 
a  good  Christian. 

mac; IS. — To  the  man  who  comes  to  collect  from  me  a 
bill  of  exchange,  I  cannot  say:  "Wait  a  while,  I  have 
a  man  of  genius  who  is  discovering  a  gold  mine  in  a 
garret  or  a  stable!"  No,  sir,  business  is  not  done 
that  way.  Six  months  from  now  the  ducats  you  owe 
me  will  have  doubled.  I  have  a  family,  sir,  and  it 
must  be  cared  for. 

FONTANAKEs,  /(/  Quinola.  —  That  has  a  wife! 

(juiNOLA. — Ay!  And  its  progeny  will  soon  have 
eaten  up  Catalonia! 

MAGIS. — I  am  under  heavy  expenses. 

FONTANAKES. — You  See  the  way  I  live. 

MAGIS. — Ah,  senor,  if  I  were  rich,  I  would  loan 
you —  {Quinolu  stretches  out  hist  hand)  enough  to  better 
your  fare. 

FONTANAREs. — Grant  mc  two  weeks  longer! 

MAGIS,  aside. — They  positively  break  my  heart;  if  it 
were  my  own  business  I  almost  think  I  should  con- 
sent; but  I  have  my  commission  to  earn  and  my 
daughter's  dowry  to  complete.  {Ahntd.)  Now,  I 
really  like  you  very  much — 

QUINOLA,  aside. —OnXy  think  that  one  would  have  to 
go  to  the  gibbet  for  choking  such  a  creature! 

FONTANARES. — You  are  as  hafd  as  iron;  T  will  be  as 
steel. 


yUINOLAS  RESOURCES  227 

MAGis. — What  do  you  mean,  sir? 

FONTANARES. — I  mean  that  you  shall  assist  me  to  the 
end  in  spite  of  yourself. 

MAGIS. — Don't  you  believe  it.  I  must  have  my 
money  back  and,  everything  else  failing,  I'll  have  all 
this  iron  junk  sold  under  the  hammer. 

FONTANARES. — Is  tliis  your  last  word?  You'll  force 
me  to  oppose  cunning  to  cunning.  I  was  acting 
openly  and  above  board —  You  compel  me  to  leave 
the  straight  road —  All  right  then!  They'll  accuse 
me,  of  course,  and  calumny  will  attach  itself  to  my 
every  act!  Well,  I'll  drink  the  dregs  with  the  rest! 
Now,  listen :  your  first  contract  was  a  crazy  one ; 
you'll  have  to  give  me  a  further  delay  or  you  will  see 
me  destroy  every  part  of  my  machine  and  keep  here 
{he  strikes  his  head)  the  secret  of  my  invention ! 

MAGis. — Ah,  Seiior!  You  could  never  do  such  a 
thing!  It  would  be  a  swindle  of  which  a  great  man 
like  you  is  incapable! 

FONTANARES. — All,  I  scc,  you  are  banking  on  my 
probity  to  assure  the  success  of  your  monstrous  rob- 
bery! 

MAGIS. — I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I  refuse  to  be 
longer  mixed  up  in  this  enterprise.  I'll  transfer  all 
my  rights  in  the  premises  to  Don  Ramon,  a  most 
worthy  gentleman  with  whom  you  will  have  no 
trouble  in  coming  to  an  agreement. 

FONTANARES. — Dou  Ramou? 

MAGIS. — Yes,  the  famous  savant  whom  the  whole 
city  of  Barcelona  opposes  to  you! 

FONTANARES. — After  all  what  do  I  care?  My  last 
difficulty  is  solved;  glory  and  wealth  will  soon  flow 
toward  me  like  water. 


228  QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 

guiNOLA, — Alas!  Every  time  he  says  that,  we  always 
have  some  wheel  or  other  to  make  over  I 

lONTANARES. — A  matter  of  a  hundred  ducats,  at  the 
most! 

MAGis. — Everything  there  is  here  would  not  bring 
that  much  under  the  hammer! 

QUiNOLA. — Food  for  the  crows,  will  you  leave  us  in 
peace ! 

MAGIS. — Make  friends  with  Don  Ramon;  he  may  be 
willing  to  take  a  mortgage  on  your  brain  as  security 
for  his  claim.  {Goeti  tv  the  door,  then  rf turns  toward 
Qninohi.)  As  for  you,  gallows'  bird,  if  you  ever  fall 
into  my  hands,  your  fate  is  sealed.  {To  Funltmares.) 
Oood-by,  great  man  I 


SCENE    V 

FONTANAKKS.        QuiNOLA. 

KONTANAREs. — His  words  gave  me  the  cold  shivers! 

guiNOLA. — I  felt  just  tliat  way!  Strange,  isn't  it, 
that  good  ideas  always  get  caught  in  such  spider's 
webs? 

KuNTANAkis. — Never  mind!  A  hundred  ducats 
more,  and  ours  is  a  life  of  love  and  luxury.  {He  tairs 
a  sip  of  water  from  the  jiiy.) 

oLiNuLA. — I  still  have  faith  in  you,  sir.  but  confess 
that  green-clad  Hope  has  led  us  into  a  pretty  deep 
muddle? 

K)NTANARES,  reproiichfully. — fjuinola! 

(juiNOLA. — Oh,  I  am  not  complaining!  I  am  used  to 
trouble  and  want!  But  where  arc  wc  to  find  a  hun- 
dred ducatsl*     You  owe  to  our  workmen,  to  Carpano, 


OUINOLA'S  Rl-:SOURCES  229 

the  master  locksmith;  to  Coppolas,  the  dealer  who  sold 
lis  our  metals,  and,  worst  of  all,  to  mine  host  of  the 
Sol  d'Oro,  who  has  given  us  credit  for  over  nine 
months,  more  out  of  fear  of  Monipodio  than  in  hopes 
of  ever  seeing  the  color  of  our  money.  He  is  about 
tired  out  by  this  time. 

KONT.A.NARES. — But  my  machine  is  almost  complete — 

QUiNoLA. — It  needs  one  hundred  ducats  more,  just 
the  same. 

FONTANAREs — Rut  how  is  it  that  you,  ever  so  cheer- 
ful and  courageous,  should  sing  this  morning  the  De 
Profundis  of  our  hopes? 

(juiNOLA. — It  is  because  to  continue  by  your  side  I 
must  seem  to  have  vanished. 

FONTANARES. — Tlic  reasou? 

tjuiNOi.A. — C'onstables  are  the  reason.  For  your 
sake  and  mine,  I  have  contracted  five  hundred  doub- 
loons worth  of  commercial  debts  that  bring  me  under 
the  ban  of  the  bankruptcy  court.  My  arrest  is  in  the 
air. 

FONTANARES. — All!  Out  of  liow  many  misfortunes 
is  glory  made! 

QUINOLA. — Don't  get  despondent  on  my  account! 
Didn't  you  tell  me  that  your  father's  father  went  with 
Cortez  to  Mexico,  some  fifty  years  ago  and  never  was 
heard  from  afterwards? 

FONTANARES. 1  did, 

QUINOLA. — You  have  a  grandfather!  He'll  lead  you 
yet  to  final  victory! 

FONTANARES. — Your  recklcss  scheming  will  ruin  nae 
for  good  and  all  I 

QUINOLA. — Do  you  want  me  to  go  to  jail  and  your 
machine  to  the  winds? 


230  QUINULA'S    RKSOl'RCES 

KONTANAREs. — No,  a  thousand  times  no! 

QUiNOLA. — Then,  allow  me  to  bring  your  grand- 
father back  from  the  Indies.  He  won't  be  the  only 
one  of  his  kind. 


SCENE    VI 
The  Preceuing,      Mt)Nii'Ouio. 
(JUINOLA. — Well? 

MONiPODio. — Your  princess  has  her  letter. 

KONTANARES. — Wlio  is  that  man   called  Don  Ramon? 

MONiPODio. — An  ass! 

(juiNOLA. — Of  an  envious  nature? 

MONiPouio. — Envious  as  a  whole  tribe  of  hissed 
actors!     He  thinks  himself  a  most  marvelous  man, 

<,)UiNoLA.  —  Have  people  a!iy  faith  in  him? 

MONIPODIO. — They  all  believe  he  is  a  genius,  fur  is  he 
not  all  the  time  scribbling?  He  says  the  snow  is  white 
because  it  comes  direct  from  heaven;  he  insists, 
against  Galileo,  that  the  earth  does  not  move. 

QUINOLA,  to  Foidanares. — You  see,  sir,  I  must  rid 
you  of  this  man.  (7'y  Mon^jodio.)  Come  along  with 
me;  I'll  have  to  use  you  as  my  valet  for  a  while. 


SCENE    VH 

KONTANARES,  (iloue. — Whcrc  is  the  brain  that  can 
stand  the  strain  of  hunting  for  money  while,  at  the 
same  time,  it  labors  to  discover  secrets  jealously  hid- 
den by  nature?     And,   besides,   it  has  to  watch  over 


QUIXOLA'S    RESOURCES  231 

men's  tricks,  triumph  over  them  and  combine  science 
with  business  shrewdness.  But  now  a  new  danger 
arises:  I  must  ward  off  the  pretensions  of  a  Don 
Ramon,  who  would  steal  my  glory  from  me,  perhaps 
under  pretext  of  some  petty  addition  to  my  invention. 
And,  if  he  does  not  succeed,  some  other  of  his  ilk  may 
be  luckier,  for  this  kind  swarm  around  me —  Alas, 
it  seems  as  if  lassitude  were  to  get  the  best  of  me — 


SCENE    VIII 

FONTANARF.S.        EsTEBAN.         GlRONE,       AIsO    Two    WoRK- 

MKN  who  grnmhh  but  do  not  speak. 

ESTEr.AX. — Will  you  kindly  tell  me  where  a  certain 
Fontanares  hides  himself? 

FONTANAREs. — Hc  is  not  hiding;  here  he  stands 
before  you.  He  has  been  meditating  in  solitude. 
{Aside.)  Where  is  Quinola?  He  always  manages  to 
send  them  away  satisfied.  {Aloud.)  What  do  you 
want? 

ESTEBAX. — We  want  our  money!  For  over  three 
weeks  we  have  been  working  for  you  withoiit  receiv- 
ing a  maravedi,  and  a  laborer  lives  from  hand  to 
mouth. 

FONTANARES. — Alas,  my  dear  friends,  I  don't  even 
live  that  way. 

ESTEEAN. — You  are  a  single  man;  you  just  pull  the 
belt  a  little  tighter  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  But  we 
have  wives  and  children  at  home — and  everything  we 
can  spare  is  in  the  pawn-shop — 


2.32  oflNoLAS    RIvSOURCES 

ION1  AN ARi:^. — Have  confidence  in  nic  just  a  little 
while  lon.ijcr. 

ESTF.nAN. — Will  confidence  pay  the  baker? 

FONTANAKKS. — I  am  a  man  of  honor. 

r.iRONE. — So  are  we  men  of  honor! 

K.STEr.AN. — Make  a  bundle  of  all  these  honors  and 
carry  them  to  the  Lombard;  how  much  is  he  ;(oing^  to 
loan  on  the  lot? 

f.iRoxr,. — I  am  not  a  man  of  };eniusl  Nobody  trusts 
me! 

ESTEiJAN. — I  am  only  a  poor  workman,  but  when  my 
wife  wants  a  kettle  I  pay  for  it  on  the  nail. 

KONTANARES,  f/?"o«n'»/7  an//?-//. — Who  has  incited  you  to 
hunt  me  down  in  this  way? 

GiRONE. — Hunt  you  down!     Do  you  take  us  for  dojjs? 

KSTEHAK. — The  magistrates  of  Barcelona  have  ren- 
dered judgement  in  favor  of  Masters  Coppolus  and 
Carpano,  granting  them  a  lien  upon  your  inventions. 
W^here  is  our  security,  if  you  please' 

GiRONK. — I  don't  leave  this  place  without  my  money. 

FONTANARES. — You  may  stay  as  much  as  you  please; 
there  is  no  money  here.  I'll  leave  you  in  full  posses- 
sion; good-by.  {[[c  pirhn  up  his  hat  and  clonk  and 
wnllcs  to  the  door.) 

i.sTFitAN. — You  won't  go  before  you  have  settled 
with  us!  {Thr  four  turn  rush  bctwcru  FimlnMin-PK  ,i„d  //"■ 
door.) 

i.iRONF.,  pirk'infi  up  II  piece  of  ui<i</ii)icri/.  —  Here  is 
something  I  forged  myself;  I'll  take  it  home. 

FONTANARKs,  drawing  his  sword. — Stop,  you  scoim- 
drel! 

THi.  rt»UR  MEN. — You  wou't  frighten  us  away! 

FONrAN\RF.s,  n'shiuf/  upon  thrm. — f)h'      {Suddenhj  he 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  233 

^siopa  and  Ihroirs  Jn's  Kwovd  aicaij.)  I  understand  now — 
Avaloros  and  Sarpi  have  sent  these  men  to  egg  me  on 
to  some  act  of  violence,  so  they  will  have  a  chance  of 
sending  me  to  prison  for  years!  {Hekncchonthcjloor 
in  front  of  tho  Madonna.)  O  My  Lady  of  Mercy,  will 
talent  and  crime  forever  be  treated  alike?  What  have 
T  done  to  suffer  such  ignominy?  Must  I  pay  so  dear 
for  a  doubtful  triumph?  {To  the  men.)  Every  Span- 
iard's home  is  his  castle.     Leave  this  place  at  once. 

ESTEBAN. — This  is  no  home  of  yours;  we  are  here  in 
a  disused  stable  of  the  Sol  d'Oro  inn.  The  host  told 
us  so. 

ciiRONE. — And  you  have  not  paid  your  rent  either — 
You  pay  nobody  and  nothing! 

FONTANARES. — Thcu  make  yourself  at  home.  You 
are  right.  I  owe  and  therefore  I  have  no  redress 
against  any  kind  of  outrage — 


SCENE   IX 

The  Preceding.     Coppolus.     Carpano. 

coppoLUS. — I  have  come  to  notify  you,  sir,  that 
yesterday  the  magistrates  of  Barcelona  allowed  me  an 
absolute  lien  upon  your  invention  and  everything  per- 
taining to  it.  I'll  take  good  care  that  nothing  is 
removed  without  my  consent.  The  lien  includes  the 
claim  of  my  fellow  tradesman  Carpano,  your  locksmith. 

FONTANARES. — What  imp  of  darkness  is  blinding  you? 
Don't  you  realize  that  without  my  brains,  this  machine 
is  but  a  worthless  heap  of  iron,  steel,  brass  and  wood? 
While,  with  me  behind  it,  it  represents  a  fortune! 


i34  gUIXOLA  vS    RESOURCES 

coppoLus. — Ola,  we  won't  let  you  go!  {The  two 
tradesmen  come  closer  to  Fontanares  as  if  to  take  him  into 
custody.) 

FONTANARES. — Whcrc  is  tbc  friend  who  embraces  you 
with  as  much  vigor  as  a  creditor?  Well,  may  the  devil 
take  back  the  thoughts  he  put  into  me! 

ALL,  li/tint/  their  handf<. — He  said:  "The  devil." 

FONTANARES,  aside. — I  will  have  to  watch  over  my 
tongue  or  it  will  land  me  in  the  prison  of  the  Holy 
Ofhcel  No,  there  is  no  glory  that  will  pay  me  back 
for  such  tortures ! 

coppoLUS,  to  (Jarpann. — Shall  we  have  him  sold  out  at 
public  auction? 

FONTANARES. — Thcrc  is  just  onc  more  piece  needed 
to  complete  the  machine.  Here  is  the  pattern — 
{Coppolus  and  C'arpaiio  are  rofisullinr/  tor/ether  in  a  low 
voice.)     It  will  be  a  matter  of  one  hundred  ducats  I 


SCENE    X 

The  Preceding.  Quinola,  wade  up  and  t/i.<tr/i/iscd  as  a 
vrry  aid  man.  Monipodio,  7nade  np  as  the  vaJcf  of  <i 
Voictian  nobleman.     The  Host  of  the  Sol  d'Oro. 

Thk  host  of  the  sol  d'oro. — My  Lord,  here  he  is. 
{Pointing  to  Fontanares.) 

quinola. — And  you  dared  to  lodge  the  grand-son  of 
General  Fontanaresi  in  a  wretched  stable  l  The 
Republic  of  Venice  will  offer  him  a  palace!  Embrace 
me,  my  dear  child!  {lie  comes  closer  to  Fontanares.) 
The  most  noble  republic  has  heard  of  your  promises  to 
the  King  of  Spain  and  has  sent  mc,  the  Director  of  its 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCKS  2,35 

Arsenal,  to  consult  with   the  greatest  engineer  of  the 
age.     {Aside  to  Fonlanarcs.)     T  am  Quinola. 

FONTANARES. — Nevcr  bcfore  has  a  grandfather 
appeared  more  opportunely — 

QUiNOLA. — What  destitution!  Is  tliis  tiic  ante-cham- 
ber of  glory ! 

FONTANAKKS. — Povcrty  is  the  crucible  through  wliich 
it  pleases  God  to  test  our  strength. 

QUINOLA. — Who  are  all  these  people? 

FONTANARES. — They  are  creditors  and  workmen  who 
besiege  me  for  money. 

,  QUINOLA,  to  the  Jiost. — You  rascal  of  an  inn-keeper,  is 
my  grandson  in  his  own  room  here? 

THE  HOST  OF  THE  SOL  d'oro. — Most  certainly  he  is, 
Your  Lordship. 

QUINOLA. — Then  you  just  fetch  me  the  police,  and  if 
I  know  anything  of  the  laws  of  Catalonia,  they  will 
put  these  fellows  in  jail,  double  quick.  You,  scoun- 
drels, you  may  send  to  my  grandson  all  the  summons 
you  please  but  you  can't  enter  his  lodgings  without  his 
consent.  [He  pulls  out  of  Ms  pocket  a  handful  of  small 
change  and  throtvs  it  to  the  workmen.)  Here  is  some- 
thing with  which  to  drink  my  health.  Later,  you'll 
come  to  me  and  get  your  pay.     Now,  go. 

THE  FOUR  MEN. — Loug  livc  His  Excellcncyl  {Exeunt 
the  woi-hnen.) 

QUINOLA,  to  Fnnianares. — Our  last  ducat!  It  had  to 
go  in  that  way! 


•-j6  OUINULAS    RESOURCES 


SCi:XE    XI 


Thk    pKF.CKniNc,  ini)i>/s   Ihr   Wokkmkn   and    iiik    Host. 

<juiN'>i,  \,  /()  ijie  lii'n  tradesmen.— A?>  for  you,  jL;cntlc- 
mcn,  you  do  not  seem  to  be  so  troublesome,  and 
money  is  all  you  are  after.  Well,  you'll  get  that  from 
me  quick  enough. 

coppoLUS. — Excellency,  we  are  entirely  at  your 
service. 

ouiNoi.A. — Now,  my  dear  child,  explain  to  me  this 
invention  everybody  is  talking  about  in  the  official 
circles  of  Venice.  Show  me  your  designs,  the  sec- 
tional views,  elevations  and  other  leading  features. 

cori'oi.us  (o  Cnrpnno. — He  evidently  knows  all  about 
such  matters.  Still,  wc  ought  to  find  out  more  about 
him  before  supplying  further  goods. 

<juiNOL\,  irho  lifts  been  rjlancing  over  designs,  etc — My 
child,  you  arc  a  genius!  Some  day,  your  name  will  be 
as  famous  as  that  of  Christopher  Columbus.  (/A- 
bonds  his  kncps  in  //ic  attitude  of  prai/cr.)  May  God  be 
praised  for  the  honor  He  grants  to  our  family  I  (To  tlic 
/radesnicn.)  You  will  be  paid  within  two  hours. 
{Exeunt  Coppnlus  and  Carpano.) 

vSCENB    XII 

QUINOLA.        P'ONTANARKS.        MoNHHJDIO. 

FONTANARF.s. — What  is  to  be  the  result  of  this  mas- 
querading? 

(,>LiNoi.  \. — You  were  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss,  T 
have  rescued  you  just  in  time. 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCEvS  237 

MoxiPonio. — Well  acted,  so  far  as  it  goes;  but  Vene- 
tians have  the  reputation  of  being  made  of  money, 
and  to  get  three  months  more  of  credit  lots  of  gold 
dust  will  have  to  be  thrown  into  our  creditors' eyes ; 
and  it  comes  high  ! 

QUiNOLA. — Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  had  a  treasure 
coming?     Well,  it's  on  the  way  now. 

MONiPODio. — It  comes — unassisted?  {A/Jirnndive  nod 
from  Qninola.) 

FONTANARES. — Your  audacity  frightens  me. 


SCENE    XIII 

The  Preceding.      Matko  Magis.       Don  Ramon. 

MAGis. — I  bring  to  you  Don  Ramon,  without  whose 
advice  I  refuse  to  go  any  further. 

DON  RAMON. — Scfior,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  a  man 
of  5''our  learning.  You  and  I,  together,  are  sure  to 
bring  your  invention  to  its  highest  perfection. 

QUINOLA. — The  professor  knows  all  about  mechanics, 
balistics,  mathematics,  dioptrics,  catoptrics — and  other 
tricks? 

DON  RAMON. — I  have  written  a  number  of  treatises 
that  are  well  thought  of  in  learned  circles. 

QUINOLA. — In  Latin? 

DON  RAMON. — No,  in  Spanish. 

QUINOLA. — The  great  savants  write  everything  in 
Latin,  There  is  danger  in  making  science  too  pop- 
ular.    Do  you  know  Latin? 

DON  RAMON. 1  do. 

QUINOLA. — All  the  better  for  you. 


2.38  OUINOLAS  KKSOURCKS 

FONTANARES. — I  liavc  fof  voui"  icputatioti  the  respect 
it  deserves;  but  my  enterprise  is  fraujjht  with  too 
many  perils  for  me  to  accept  your  offer.  Do  you 
know  that  it  is  my  head  that  is  at  stake?  Yours  is 
infinitely  too  precious  to  be  thus  jeopardized. 

DON  RAMON. — And  do  you  really  believe,  Scnor,  t'.iat 
you  will  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  help  of  Don 
Ramon,  who  has  made  for  himself  such  a  name  in  the 
realms  of  science? 

QuiNOLA. — Then  you  are  the  famous  Don  Ramon 
who  has  explained  so  triumphantly  phenomena  that 
went  on  for  centuries  without  any  explanation? 

DON  KA.MON. — The  samc  Don  Ramon. 

ouiNOLA. — My  name  is  Fontanarcsil  I  am  the 
Director  of  the  great  arsenal  in  Venice  and  the  grand- 
father of  our  inventor.  My  dear  child,  {/urnifi//  lo 
Foil/ (1)1  fires)  you  may  have  full  confidence  in  this  gen- 
tleman; in  his  position  it  would  be  beneath  him  to  set 
a  trap  for  you;  we  will  do  well  to  tell  him  everything. 

DON  RAMON,  aside. — I  am  going  to  be  told  the  whole 
secret. 

roNTANAKKS,  (isidc  to  (^)u i Nolti. — What  are  you  going 
to  do? 

QUiNoi.A,  foisirrriug  in  flic  sfnnr  mninirr. — I  am  going 
to  teach  him  mathematics  in  my  own  way;  it  will  do 
him  no  good  and  us  no  harm.  (7';  />iiii  Rudwii.) 
C(jme  closer,  please.  {Ifc  pnints  nut  ti>  /n'm  several  par/ .^^ 
of  Ihe  inarJiinerij  aloiKj  the  wall.)  All  this  detail  is  not 
what  you  want.  For  the  true  savant,  the  theory  of 
the  invention  is  sufficient.     Now,  the  great  thing — 

DON  RAMON. — The  great  thing? 

QUINOLA.  —  Is  the  scientific  jiroblem  in  itself.  You 
know  the  reason  why  clouds  always  rise? 


gUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  239 

DON  RAMON. — Because  they  are  lighter  than  air. 

QUiNOLA. — Nothing  of  the  kind,  since,  after  a  while, 
they  drop  on  us  in  the  form  of  water.  I  hate  water; 
and  you? 

DON  R.AMON. — I  respect  it. 

QUINOLA. — We  are  made  to  agree.  Now,  the  truth 
is  that  the  clouds  rise  because,  being  vapors,  they  are 
attracted  by  the  force  of  the  higher,  colder,  atmos- 
phere. 

DON  RAMON. — I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  were  so. 
I'll  write  a  book  about  it. 

QUINOLA*. — My  nephew  has  derived  from  the  theory 
just  explained  a  formula  which  he  writes  down :  A  +  O. 
As  there  is  lots  of  water  in  the  air,  he  has  simplified 
it  to :   0  +  0,  an  entirely  new  binomial. 

DON  RAMON,  diizeiJ. — An  entirely  new  binomial! 

QUINOLA. — Or  if  you  want  it  clearer  yet,  we'll  say: 
O  +  O  =  X. 

DON  RAMox. — Equals  X;  yes,  yes,  I  understand! 

FONTANAREs,  (isiile. — What  an  ass! 

QUINOLA. — The  rest  is  child's  play.  A  tube  receives 
the  water  which  is  made  to  turn  into  a  cloud.  The 
nature  of  that  cloud  forces  it  to  rise,  and  the  power 
thus  developed  is  enormous. 

DON  RAMON. — Euormous  I     Why  enormous? 

QUINOLA. — Enormous  because  it  comes  from  nature 
itself.     Now,  you  know,  man  does  not  create  forces — 

DON  RAMON. If  it's  SO,   hoW — ? 

QUINOLA. — He  borrows  them  from  nature.  An 
inventor  is  nothing  but  a  constant  borrower.     After 


*  Tlie  joke  of  Quinola  rests  on  a  French  pun,  eau  (water)  being 
pronounced  O. 


24©  QUINOLAS  RKSOl'RCES 

that,  it's  only  a  matter  of  a  few  rods  and  screws  and 
such  things — you  know — 

DON  RAMON. — Ycs,  sir;  don't  I  know  everything  in 
mechanics? 

(jLiNOLA. — Well  then,  you'll  grasp  at  once  that  the 
transmission  of  this  force,  once  borrowed  from 
nature,  is  but  a  trifling  matter,  as  easy  as  moving  a 
spit — 

DON  KAMON. — Oh,  you  are  using  a  spit? 

ouiNOLA. — We  are  using  two,  and  the  force  they 
devejop  is  such  that  it  could  set  mountains  a-jumping 
like  the  rams  in  King  David's  psalms!  You  see  one 
of  the  prophet's  predictions  conies  true. 

DON  RAMON. — Sefior,  you  are  perfectly  right.  A 
cloud  is  water — 

(juiNOLA. — Yes,  professor,  it  is;  and  the  whole 
world  is  water!  Without  it  what  could  we  do?  And 
this  is  the  basis  of  my  grandson's  invention  :  Water  is 
to  conquer  water,  according  to  the  efpiation:  X=OfO. 

DON  RAMON,  unide. — I  don't  understand  half  he  says. 

ijuiNoLA. — You  have  understood  me,  of  course. 

DON  RAMON. — Every  wf)rd. 

(juiNOLA,  aside. — It's  impossible  to  be  nK)rc  stupid. 
(Aloud.)  I  have  spoken  to  you  in  the  language  only 
true  savants  understand. 

MAOis,  fo  Miniipodio. — Who  is  this  most  learned  gen- 
tleman? 

MONii'ODio. — An  extraordinary  man  from  whom  I  am 
receiving  instruction  in  ballistics.  He  is  the  Director 
of  the  Arsenal  in  Venice,  and  will  pay  you  back, 
to-night,  in  behalf  of  the  Republic,  the  funds  you 
advanced  to  his  grandson. 

MAois,  axidv. — A  man  from  Venice —     I'll   hasten   to 


(JUINOLAS   RESOURCES  241 

.Siu,Mioni    Brancadori;    she   comes   from    there.       {Exit 
Mail  is.) 


SCENE   XIV 

The   Pkeceding,    minus   Mateo   Magis.        Lotundiaz. 

Maria. 

MARIA. — Am  I  in  time? 

QUiNOLA,  aside. — Here  is  our  treasure,  at  last! 
{Lotundiaz  and  Don  Ramon  are  most  polite  to  each  other 
a /id  e.caminr  together  the  parts  of  machinery  on  the  wall.) 

loNTANARKs,  OH  lltc  fmnt  of  tlie  stage  uuth  .]fari((. — You 
here,  Maria? 

MARIA. — Brought  here  by  my  father!  Ah,  dear 
friend,  when  your  servant  informed  me  of  your  dire 
distress — 

FONTANARES,  to  (Juiuolu. — You,  rascul ! 

QUiNOLA.— What!     Grandson! 

MARIA. — Oh,  by  doing  so,  he  ended  my  anguish. 

FONTANARES. — Had  you  any  special  cause  for  anguish? 

MARIA. — Indeed  I  had!  You  have  no  idea  how  I 
have  been  persecuted  at  home  since  your  quarrel  with 
Signora  Brancadori!  And  what  can  I  do  against 
paternal  authority?  You  know  it  is  boundless.  If  I 
remained  home  much  longer,  I  doubt  if  I  should  be 
strong  enough  to  prevent  my  person  from  being  bar- 
tered away,  even  when  my  heart  is  yours  forever! 

FONTANARES. — You  pooT,  dearly  beloved  martyr! 

MARIA. — This  delay  in  the  day  of  your  final  triumph 
has  rendered  my  life  simply  unbearable.  Alas,  now 
that  I  see  you  here,  in  this  bare  stable,  I  realize  that, 


242  oriXOLA'S    RESOURCES 

during  these  same  months,  you  must  have  suffered 
incredible  privations.  Now,  listen:  to  prevent  any 
further  attempt  to  separate  us  and  to  remain  your  own 
in  soul  if  not  in  body,  1  have  decided  to  pretend  that  I 
am  goings  to  be  the  bride  of  the  church:  to-nij^^ht,  I 
enter  a  convent. 

FoNTANAREs. — Driven  within  dark  convent  walls  to 
avoid  a  worse  separation!  O  Maria,  this  is  a  torture 
cruel  enough  to  make  one  curse  life !  You,  my  darling, 
the  very  principle  and  flower  of  my  discovery,  you  the 
star  that  protected  me,  you  are  to  vanish  from  my 
sight,  perhaps  forever.  Ah!  this  is  too  much.  {He 
hows  doion,  and  sobs  sJiake /lis  frame.) 

MARIA. — But  when  I  promised  to  enter  a  convent,  I 
made  it  a  condition  that  I  should  see  you  once  more. 
I  wanted  to  add  some  hope  to  my  farewell,  and  to 
Ijring  you  the  savings  of  the  young  girl,  offered  to  the 
dearest  of  friends  and  kept  preciously  for  the  day 
when  everything  would  seem  to  have  forsaken  you. 

FONTANARKs. — But,  without  you,  what  do  I  care  for 
fame  or  fortune,  or  even  life! 

.MARIA. — It  is  your  duty  to  accept  what  is  offered  you 
by  one  whose  only  joy  will  be  to  belong  to  you!  If  I 
knew  you  to  be  harassed  and  in  want,  my  retreat 
would  be  no  relief  to  me,  and  I  should  soon  die  there, 
hopeless  and  heart-broken,  though  still  praying  for  you. 

(juiNOLA. — Let  him  be  proud  as  much  as  he  pleases, 
if  only  we  can  save  him  in  spite  of  himself!  Hush! 
I  am  supposed  to  be  his  grandfather.  {Maria  i/ire.s  to 
(Juinola  (he  reticule  she  had  on  her  arm.) 

LOTUNDiAZ,  cominij  forward  with  Don  liaynon. — So  you 
don't  think  he  amounts  to  much? 

LiON  RAMo.N. — The    youngcT   one?      Why,    he   is    an 


QUINOr.A'S  RESOURCES  243 

ignorant  artisan  who  has  stolen  two  or  three  fairly 
good  ideas  during  his  stay  in  Italy. 

LOTUNDiAz. — I  always  thought  so,  and  I  felt  I  was 
right  in  opposing  my  daughter  and  refusing  her  that 
husband. 

DON  RAMON. — He  would  squander  her  last  maravedi! 
Why,  he  has  already  spent  five  thousand  ducats  and 
run  into  debt  to  the  extent  of  three  thousand  more, 
all  in  eight  months'  time,  and  without  anything  to 
show  for  it!  Ah,  his  grandfather  is  a  different  person 
and  possessed  of  immense  learning.  It  would  take  the 
young  fellow  a  lifetime  to  come  near  him.  {He 
points  to  Quinola.) 

LOTUNDIAZ. — That's  his  grandfather? 

QUINOLA. — Yes,  sir,  my  name  of  Fontanares  was 
changed,  in  Venice,  to  Fontanaresi. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — So  you  are  Pablo  Fontanares,  are  you? 

QUINOLA. — Pablo  himself. 

LOTUNDIAZ, — And  rich,  I  take  it? 

QUINOLA. — Very  rich. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — Delighted  to  meet  you — since  you  will 
surely  pay  me  the  two  thousand  ducats  you  borrowed 
from  my  father. 

QUINOLA. — Just  show  me  my  signature  and  I  will 
reimburse  you. 

MARIA,  ending  a  low-roice  conversation  with  Fontanares. 
— To  accept  is  to  hasten  the  hour  of  your  triumph, 
and  is  that  not  hastening  the  hour  of  our  bliss? 

FONTANARES. — How  cau  I  muster  up  the  courage  to 
drag  down  this  lovely  victim  into  the  abyss  that  lies  at 
my  feet? 

{Exeunt  Quinola  and  Monipodio.) 


i.j4  CjUlXOT.AS    RLSOUKCICS 


SCENE    XV 

Thk  Prkci.uing.      Sari'i. 

SARHi,  to  LotuniUa-^. — Vou  here,  sir,  with  your 
chiughter? 

i.oTUNDiA/. — She  made  it  a  condition,  before  enter- 
in^  the  convent  that  I  should  allow  her  to  bid  him 
t;ood-by. 

SARiM. — There  are  too  many  people  present  at  this 
interview  for  me  to  feel  vexed  about  it. 

FoNTANARi-.s. — Ah,  herc  is  the  most  constant  of  my 
persecutors!  Well,  Senor,  are  you  planning-  to  ])Ut 
my  perseverance  to  a  new  test? 

SARPi. — I  represent  herc  the  Viceroy  of  Catalonia, 
and  I  am  entitled  to  yi3ur  respect.  ('I'n  Dmi  lia^non.) 
Are  you  satisfied,  professor? 

DON  RAMON  — With  my  advice,  success  may  be 
reached. 

SAKi'i. — The  Viceroy  sets  i^rcat  weivjht  on  your 
learned  assistance. 

KONTANARES. — Am  I  dreaming',  or  are  they  setting 
up  a  rival  against  me? 

SARPi. — We  are  giving  you  a  guide,  sir,  to  save  you 
from  failure. 

KONTANARKS. — Who  toUl  you  T  need  one' 

MARIA. — Alfonso!  If  he  really  helped  you  to  suc- 
cess? 

FONTANAKES. — Evcn  shc  is  doubling  me! 

MARIA. — They  say  the  man  is  a  great  savant — 

LOIUNUIA7.. — Don't  you  see  that  the  j.resumptuous 
fool  believes  himself  more  learned  than  all  the  savants 
in  the  world  rolled  into  one? 


gUINOI.AS    R]:SOURCES  245 

SARPi. — I  am  broug-ht  here  by  a  question  that  is  caus- 
ing the  Viceroy  some  concern.  You  have  had  for 
nearly  ten  months  one  of  the  King's  vessels;  you  must 
account  for  this  stewardship. 

FONTANARKS. — The  King  fixed  no  limit  for  the  com- 
pletion of  my  labors. 

SARPI. — The  Governor  of  Catalonia  has  a  right  to 
put  such  a  limit  and  he  has  been  so  instructed  by  the 
ministers.  {MoiJement  of  surprit<e  from  FontanareK.) 
Oh,  we  are  not  going  to  be  hard  on  you!  Take  a 
reasonable  time.  Only,  we  hope  you  are  not  trusting 
to  avoid  the  penalty  that  hangs  over  your  head  by 
keeping  the  vessel  in  your  possession  to  the  end  of 
your  natural  life? 

.MARIA. — What  penalty  is  he  speaking  about? 

FONTANARES. — My  head  is  at  stake. 

MARIA. — Why,  you  risk  your  life  in  this  enterprise 
and  you  refuse  my  pitiful  assistance! 

FONTANARES. — Count  Sarpi,  within  three  months  and 
without  the  help  of  anybody,  I  shall  have  completed 
my  work,  as  promised.  You  will  witness  one  of  the 
grandest  spectacles  a  man  can  present  to  his  time. 

SARPI. — Here  is  your  three  months'  engagement; 
sign  it.      {FoiLta)iaref<  goefi  to  tlic  table  and  signs.) 

MARIA, — G()()d-by,  beloved  friend.  Should  you  fail 
in  your  undertaking,  I  think  I  would  love  you  still 
more. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — Come,  come,  daughter,  this  man  is 
crazy. 

DON  RAMON. — Young  man,  read  my  books! 

SARPI.  —  Cxood-by,  future  Orandee  of  Spain! 

{Exeunt  all,  except  Fontanares.) 


146  QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 


SCENE    XVI 


FONTANARES,  in  frout  of  the  stage. — With  Maria  in  a 
convent  I  should  feel  chilled  even  in  the  midday  sun! 
Alas,  I  am  carrying  a  world  on  my  shoulders,  and  I 
fear  that  I  am  no  Atlas!  No,  I  cannot  succeed  when 
everything  is  thus  fighting  against  me —  This  work 
of  mine,  the  child  of  three  years'  thought  and  ten 
months  of  harassing  labor  will  never  furrow  the  seas — 
I  feel  overcome  by  fatigue —  {He  ties  <toirn  on  the 
strmc.) 

SCENE     XVIT 

FONTANARES,    asUcp.         QuiNOLA   AND  MoNIPODIO, 

entering  t)y  the  ftmall  door. 

QUINOLA. — Gold,  Pearls,  Diamonds!     We  are  saved! 

MONiF'ODio. — Bear  in  mind  that  the  Brancadori 
woman  hails  from  Venice. 

QUINOLA. — Then  I'll  have  to  go  back  there,  double- 
quick.  Fetch  me  the  inn-keeper;  I  am  going  to  place 
our  credit  on  a  firm  footing. 

MONii'oDio. — Here  he  comes. 


SCENE     XVIII 

The  Preceding.      Thk  Host  ok  the  S(jl  u'Oro. 

QUINOLA. — So,  mine  host,  you  have  had  no  confidence 
in  our  grandson's  star,  it  seems? 

THE  HOST. — An  inn,  Your  Excellency,  is  not  a  liank- 
ing  house. 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  ,  247 

QUiNOLA. — ^True;  but  charity  might  have  induced 
you  to  furnish  him  the  bare  necessaries  of  life.  Any- 
way, I  find  him  so  much  attached  to  this  country,  that 
I  am  unable  to  induce  him  to  bring  his  discoveries  to 
The  Most  Excellent  Republic.  So,  I  am  about  to 
leave  this  city  as  I  came — secretly.  All  I  have  with 
me  that  I  can  dispose  of  is  this  diamond.  Take  it; 
within  a  month  you  will  receive  funds  from  me.  In 
the  meantime,  make  arrangements  with  my  grandson's 
valet  for  the  sale  of  this  ring. 

THE  HOST. — Your  Excellency,  Seiior  Fontanares  and 
his  valet  will  be  treated  like  princes  with  their  pockets 
full  of  money. 

QUINOLA. — You  may  go. 

{Exit  the  Host.) 


SCENE    XIX 

The  Preceding,  minus  The  Host  of  the  Sol  d'Oro. 

QUINOLA. — Let  us  go,  and  change  our  clothes. 
{Looking  at  Fontanares.)  How  he  sleeps!  Even  his 
strong  constitution  gives  way  to  so  many  shocks!  We 
manage  to  prevent  worries  from  getting  a  hold  on  us; 
but  he  lacks  our  happy  carelessness.  Did  I  do  right 
in  asking  of  him  every  time  double  the  money  neces- 
sary for  forging  these  parts?  {To  Jfonijjodio.)  Well, 
here  goes —     Take  the  pattern  of  the  last  piece. 

{Exeunt  Qiiinola  and  Monijjodio.) 


^43  QUINOLAS  RIiS()URCES 

SCENE     XX 

FONTAXARKS,   aslrCj).        FAUSTINA.        MadIS. 

MAGis. — Here  he  is  I 

FAUSTINA,  (jazing  upon  Fonlanarcs  asleep. — To  such  a 
state  have  I  reduced  him!  Judging  from  the  cruel 
wounds  I  have  thus  inflicted  upon  myself,  I  can 
fathom  the  depth  of  my  love!  Ah,  how  much  happi- 
ness I  owe  him  for  all  the  sufferings  I  have  forced  him 
to  endure ! 

(Curtain  on  Third  Aci .) 


F,OURT?I    ACT 

{Tlxp  stage  rrpreseids  a  public  square.  At  the  rear  nf  the 
stage  stands  a  platform  :  <>u  the  ground  in  front  of  it  are  piled 
up  sundry  pieces  of  machinery,  mhirh  an  auctioneer,  from  his 
rostrum  on  the  platform,  is  endeavoring  to  sell  to  the  crov^d  of 
spectators  grouped  around.  To  the  left,  one  notices  Copjwlii.s, 
Carpano,  the  Host  of  the  Sol  d'Oro,  Esteban,  (Jirone,  Magis,  Don 
Ramon,  Lotnndiaz.  To  the  right,  Fontanares,  Monipodio  and 
Quinola,  the  latter  wrapped  up  in  a  big  cloak  and  half  hidden 
behind  Monipodio.) 

SCENE    I 

Fontanares.  Monipodio.  Quinola.  Coppolus. 
Carpano.  The  Host  of  the  Sol  d'Oro.  Este- 
ban. GiRONE.  Mateo  Magis.  Don  Ramon. 
LoTUNDiAz.  An  Auctioneer.  Two  Groups  oe 
Populace. 

THE  auctioneer. — Gentlcmeu,  won't  yoii  put  a  little 
more  fire  in  your  bids?  Why,  here  is  a  kettle  big 
enough  to  cook,  at  one  time,  the  dinner  of  a  whole 
regiment ! 

the  host. — I  bid  four  maravedis  more! 

THE  auctioneer. — No  othcT  bid —  No  other  bid — 
Come  closer,  good  people,  and  examine  the  goods. 

MAGIS. — Six  maravedis  more! 

quinola,  lov)  to  Fontanares. — Sir,  the  total  amount  of 
the  sale  won't  reach  a  hundred  ducats. 

fontanares. — Let  us  resign  ourselves. 

249 


:b°  QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 

QUiNoi.A. — Resignation  is  entitled  to  Vjc  called  the 
fourth  Theological  Virtue —  For  woman's  sake,  it 
was  not  included  in  the  original  list. 

MONiFODii). — You  had  better  hush  up,  if  you  don't 
want  to  be  nabbed.  They  think  you  one  of  my  men 
or  you'd  have  been  in  jail  long  ago. 

THK.  AUCTioNEKR. — This  is  thc  last  lot,  gentlemen — 
No  further  bid?  Well,  then,  knocked  down  to  Mateo 
Magis  for  ten  gold  ducats  and  ten  maravcdis. 

L(»TUNDiAz,  fo  Don  Itamon. — And  thus  ends  thc 
sublime  invention  of  our  great  man !  He  was  right, 
after  all,  when  he  promised  us  an  entertaining  spec- 
tacle! 

coppoLus. — You  may  laugh  about  him;  he  owes  you 
nothing! 

ESTEiiAN. — And  we,  poor  devils,  have  to  pay  for  his 
folly. 

LOTUNDiAz. — He  owes  me  nothing,  did  you  say,  Mas- 
ter Coppolus?  And  what  about  my  daughter's  dia- 
monds which  the  valet  of  the  great  man  managed  to 
sink  into  this  old  junk. 

MAGIS. — But  they  were  seized  at  my  house. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — Yes,  the  court  has  got  them  in  charge; 
I'd  prefer  they  had  hold  of  that  Ouinola;  that  kidnapper 
of  maiden's  treasures. 

QUINOLA,  aside. — Ah,  what  a  lesson  for  me!  My 
antecedents  are  ruining  me! 

LOTUNDIAZ. — But  if  they  catch  him,  they  won't  be 
long  settling  his  business;  I  shall  soon  have  the 
])leasure  to  see  him  distributing  blessings  with  his 
toes. 

FONTANAREs. — Our  misfortuuc  renders  this  heavy 
bourgeois  almost  witty. 


QUINOLAS  RESOURCES  251 

QUiNOLA. — You  mean,  ferocious — 

DON  RAMON. — I  must  Say  that,  for  my  part,  I  regret 
this  catastrophe.  This  young  artisan  was  beginning 
to  listen  to  mc,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that,  together, 
we  would  have  succeeded  in  fulfilling  his  promises  to 
the  King.  Oh,  he  may  rest  undisturbed — I  shall  go  to 
the  Royal  Court  to  obtain  his  pardon  by  pledging 
myself  to  make  some  use  of  him. 

coppoLUs. — Here  is  generosity  seldom  met  with 
among  savants ! 

L0TUNDIA2. — Don  Ramon,  you  are  an  honor  to 
Catalonia. 

FONTANAREs,  comiug  forit'ctrd  and  speaking  to  the 
2)€ople. — I  have  stood  patiently  the  torture  of  witness- 
ing my  work  sold  for  a  few  ducats — my  work  which  was 
so  near  bringing  me  fame  and  fortune.  {Murmuring 
in  the  croivd.)  But  this  is  going  a  step  too  far — Don 
Ramon,  if  you  had,  I  do  not  say  knoivn,  but  merely 
suspected  the  real  use  to  which  these  various  parts  now 
scattered  were  to  be  put,  you  would  have  bought  them 
at  the  cost  of  your  whole  fortune — 

DON  RAMON. — Youug  man,  I  respect  your  unfortu- 
nate luck,  but  you  well  know  that  your  apparatus  was 
not  in  working  order,  and  that  my  experience  had 
become  indispensable  if  you  were  to  succeed. 

FONTANARES. — The  worst  among  all  the  tortures  of 
the  poor  is  that  they  cannot  stop  the  calumnies  and  the 
boastings  of  idiots. 

LOTUNDiAz. — Are  you  not  ashamed,  in  your  present 
position,  to  come  forward  and  insult  a  savant  who  has 
given  such  proofs  of  his  high  learning?  Where  should 
I  be  if  I  had  allowed  you  to  marry  my  daughter?  On 
the    highroad    to    beggary,     for    you    have    already 


:S2  QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 

devoured  10,000  ducats  wilhoul  any  result  to  sliow  for 
it!     What  about  your  title  of  (irandec,  my  little  man? 

FONTANARKS. — I  pity  yOU — 

LOTUNDiAZ. — Maybe!  But  I  certainly  do  not  envy 
you,  with  your  head  at  the  mercy  of  the  court. 

DON  RAMON. — Lcavc  blui  alone,  Sefior  Lotundiaz; 
don't  you  see  that  he  is  crazy— ^ 

FONTANARES. — Not  crazy  enough,  sir,  to  believe  that 
O  +  O  is  a  binomial ! 


vSCENE     II 

The  Prkck.dinc.      Don  Frkooso.      Faustina. 
AvAi.oRos.      Sarim. 

sarpi. — We  arrive  too  late;  the  sale  is  over. 

DON  FREGoso. — The  King  will  regret  that  he  trusted 
a  charlatan. 

FONTANARKS. — I,  a  cluirlatau,  My  Lord'  Well,  in  a 
few  days  I  shall  have  forfeited  my  head  and  it  will  be 
cut  off  upon  your  order.  Until  then,  cease  slandering 
me;  your  position  is  too  lofty  for  you  to  act  so  basely. 

DON  FRKGOso. — Your  audacity  equals  your  misfor- 
tune. Have  you  forgotten  that  the  magistrates  con- 
si<lcr  you  as  the  accomplice  of  your  valet  in  the  theft 
of  the  jewels  of  vSeiiorita  Lotundiaz?  The  running 
av.'ay  of  your  Quinola  was  sufficient  proof  of  his  crime 
and  yours,  and,  were  it  not  for  Madamc's  intercession, 
{/le  points  to  Faustina)  you  would  \>v  now  under 
arrest. 

FONTANARES, — My  servaut,  My  Lord,  may  have  com- 
mitted errors  in  his  youth,  but,  since  he  attached  him- 


(ji'iNor.A's  rp:soi;kces  253 

self  to  my  fortune,  he  has  purified  his  life  in  the 
crucible  of  my  torments.  Upon  my  honor,  he  is  inno- 
cent; the  precious  stones  found  in  his  possession  when 
he  was  offering-  them  for  sale  to  Mateo  Magis,  had 
been  freely  given  him  by  Maria  Lotundiaz,  from 
whom  I  had  refused  them  a  few  moments  before, 

FAUSTINA,  aside. — What  pride  in  his  misfortune! 
Nothing  seems  to  daunt  him! 

SARPi. — And  how  do  you  explain  this  resurrection  of 
your  grandfather,  this  pretended  Director  of  the 
Arsenal  of  Venice?  It  happened  that  Madame  and  I 
both  know  the  real  director. 

FONTANARES. — I  had  my  valet  assume  that  disguise 
so  that  he  could  converse  on  scientific  subjects  with 
Don  Ramon.  Seiior  Lotundiaz  will  tell  you  that  the 
Catalonian  savant  and  Quinola  agreed  on  all  points. 

MONiPODio,  aside. — He  is  a  ruined  man  I 

DON  RAMON. — I  Call  my  works  as  witnesses  against 
this  slander! 

FAUSTINA. — Do  not  fccl  offcnded,  Don  Ramon!  It  is 
so  natural  for  people  who  feel  the  ground  dropping 
from  under  their  feet  to  try  and  drag  everybody  down 
with  them ! 

LOTUNDIAZ. — What  a  horrible  temper  he  has! 

FONTANARKs. — It  is  OUT  duty,  bcfoTc  we  die,  to  tell  the 
whole  truth  to  those  who  have  pushed  us  to  the  abyss. 
{To  Don  Fregoso.)  My  Lord,  the  King  had  promised 
me  the  assistance  of  his  Barcelona  officials,  and  I  have 
received  from  them  nothing  but  hatred !  Oh,  you  the 
great,  the  wealthy  on  this  earth,  you  who  hold  in  your 
hands  some  share  of  power,  why  do  you  always  oppose 
every  new  conception?  Are  you  obeying  a  divine 
law  when  you  mock,  when  you  persecute  that  which, 


354  QUlNUl-A  S  RESOURCES 

later,  you  will  surely  worship?  Had  I  shown  myself 
abjectly  humble  and  yielding,  success  would  have 
been  mine  from  the  start!  In  harrassing  me,  you 
have  persecuted  that  which  is  noblest  in  every  human 
being,  the  consciousness  of  his  strength,  the  majesty 
of  labor,  the  heavenly  inspiration  that  leads  his  hand — 
and  even  love,  this  human  faith  which  keeps  alive  the 
flame  of  courage — when  the  cold  blast  of  raillery  would 
extinguish  it!  Ah,  if  you  succeed  wretchedly  in  doing 
good,  you  succeed  brilliantly  in  doing  evil!  But  I 
stop  now:  you  are  not  worth  my  anger! 

FAUSTINA,  aside. — One  word  more,  and  I  would  have 
cried  out  that  I  adore  him! 

DON  FREGoso. — Sarpi,  call  the  alguazils,  and  place 
under  arrest  the  accomplice  of  Quinola!  [The  crowed 
applauds ;  a  few  cries  of  ^'•Uravd'''  are  heard  here  and 
there.) 


SCENE    III 

The  Preceding.     Maria  Lotundia/. 

(Jusf  as  the  ah/uazils  are  about  takinrj  hold  of  Fonta- 
nares,  Maria  appears,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  novice  and 
escorted  by  a  friar  a7id  two  nuns.) 

MARIA  LOTUNDiAZ,  to  the  Viceroy. — My  Lord,  I  have 
just  been  informed  that  what  I  did,  with  the  intention 
of  saving  Fontanares  from  the  persecution  of  his 
enemies,  has  turned  to  his  ruin.  Having  received 
permission  to  speak  out  the  truth,  I  hereby  declare 
that  I  myself  delivered  to  Quinola  my  jewelry  and  my 
savings.     (Lofundiaz  starts  bark.)    They  were  my  own, 


gUINOLA'S  RF.SOURCES  255 

father;  I  pray  God  that  you  may  never  have  to  regret 
your  blind  prejudices  in  this  matter. 

QUiNOLA,  throwing  off  the  folds  of  his  cloak. — Ah, 
thank  Heavens,  I  feel  better  now! 

FONTANARES,  oue  kiive  on  the  ground  before  Maria. — 
Be  blessed,  be  blessed !  Your  pure  love  unites  nie 
again,  in  heavenly  bliss,  with  faith  and  with  hope! 
You  have  saved  my  honor! 

MARIA. — Is  it  not  mine  also?     Fame  will  come  soon  ! 

FONTANARES. — Alas,  the  fruits  of  my  labor  are  now 
scattered  among  a  hundred  avaricious  hands  that 
would  not  yield  them  up  except  for  as  much  gold  as 
they  have  already  cost.  I  should  merely  double  the 
amount  of  my  debts,  and  fail  after  all,  to  reach  the 
goal  in  time.      No,  all  is  over — 

FAUSTINA,  to  Maria. — vSacrifice  yourself  and  he  is 
saved ! 

MARIA. — My  father — Count  Sarpi —  {Aside.)  Oh, 
I  shall  die  of  it —  {Aloud.)  If  you  consent  to  furnish 
all  that  is  necessary  to  secure  the  complete  success  of 
Seiior  Fontanares'  invention,  then — then — I  will  obey 
you,  father —  {To  Fanstina.)  You  see,  Madame,  I 
sacrifice  myself — 

FAUSTINA. — You  are  sublime,  my  angel.  {Aside.) 
At  last,  I  am  rid  of  her! 

FONTANARES. — Stop,  stop,  Maiia —  Promise  noth- 
ing! Rather  more  struggles  and  perils,  rather  death 
itself  than  to  lose  you ! 

MARIA. — So  you  love  me  better  than  you  do  glory? 
{To  the  Viceroy.)  My  Lord,  I  beg  of  you  to  have  the 
jewels  returned  to  Quinola.  For  my  part  I  go  back 
to  the  convent  with  joy  in  my  soul :  I  shall  belong  to 
him  or  to  God! 


25^  gUINOLA'S  RESOURCES 

LoTUNDiA/. — He  must  have  bewitched  her! 

QUiNOL A. — This  maiden  would  almost  make  me  trust 
women  again  I 

FAUSTINA,  io  Sarjii  and  Avaloros. — Shall  we  never 
conquer  him? 

AVALOROS. — I'll  have  my  try  now. 

sAKPi,  io  Fanslina. — No,  everything  is  not  yet  lost. 
[Til  Lohiiidiaz.)  Take  your  daughter  home  willi  you; 
she  will  soon  sIkjw  herself  obedient. 

LOTUNDIA^. — May  heaven  hear  you!  Come,  daugh- 
ter. 

{Exe%int  Lotundiaz,  Maria  and  the  friar  and  nuns  who 
came  in  with  her,  Don  Ramon  and  Sarpi.) 


SCENI':    IV 

Falsti.na.      Don   Fregoso.      Avai.oros.      Fontanarks. 
QuiNOI.A.        MuNii'omo. 

AVALokos.  —  I  have  studietl  you  carefully,  young 
man,  and  I  have  discovered  in  you  an  iron  will,  and  a 
truly  great  character.  Iron  always  will  be  the  master 
of  gold.  Let  us  be  partners,  open  and  above  board. 
I  will  assume  the  payment  of  your  debts;  I  will  buy 
back  everything  that  was  sold  to-day  and  give  you  and 
Quinola  five  thousand  ducats  to  permit  the  completion 
of  your  machine.  Besides,  I  will  beseech  His  Lord- 
ship, the  Viceroy,  to  graciously  forgive  your  wild 
outburst. 

KoN'rANAKiis. — If,  iu  the  excess  of  my  grief,  I  failed 
in  the  respect  I  owe  you,  My  Lord,  I  beg  Your  Lord- 
ship to  forgive  me. 


QUINOLA'S   KKSCJL'RCES  257 

DON  FREGOso. — That  will  do,  sir;  Don  Freg^oso  can- 
not be  offended. 

FAUSTINA. — Ah,  this  is  fine.  My  Lord! 

AVALOROS. — Well,  young  man,  you  see  what  beauti- 
ful calm  has  Succeeded  the  storm.  Everything  now 
sn^iles  upon  you.  Let  us  agree  to  fulfill,  in  good 
accord,  your  promises  to  the  King. 

i-oNTANAREs. — 1  have  but  one  incentive  toward  for- 
tune.    Shall  I  be  allowed  to  marry  Maria  Lotundiuz.^ 

DON  FREGOSO. — You  lovc  uo  ouc  clse  in  the  world? 

FONTANARES. — No  ouc  else,  My  Lord.  {Faustina 
and  Avaloros  whisper  to  each  other.) 

DON  FREGOso. — You  ucver  told  me  this  before. 
You  may  now  count  upon  my  unreserved  assistance, 
young  man.      {Exit  Don  Fregoso.) 

MONiPODio,  aside. — They  agree,  we  are  lost.  I'll  flee 
to  France  with  the  duplicate  parts  of  the  machinery. 
{E.cit  Monipodio. ) 


SCENE    V 

QUINOLA.        FONTANAKKS.       FAUSTINA.       AvALOROS. 

FAUSTINA,  to  Funtanarcs. — You  see  now  that  I  bear 
you  no  grudge.  As  a  mark  of  our  reconciliation,  will 
you  not  attend  an  entertainment  in  my  house,  to  cele- 
brate your  assured  triumph? 

FONTANARES. — I  canuot  help  remembering,  Madame, 
that  your  first  kindness  concealed  a  pitfall. 

FAUSTINA. — Like  all  the  sublime  dreamers  who 
endow  the  world  with  their  discoveries,  how  little  you 
understand  women  and  the  world! 


358  QUINOLA'S    Ri:SOURCES 

FONTANARES,  usidi'. — I   liave  but  a  week  left —     {To 
Quinola.)     I  will  make  use  of  her — 

QUiNOLA. — As  you  make  use  of  me. 

FONTANARKS. — Madame,  T  shall  be  there. 

FAUsriNA. — I  suppose  I  must  thank  Quinola  for  this. 
{She  hands  him  a  purse.)  Here,  take  this.  {To  Fonta 
nares.)     Until  to-night. 

{E.reniif  Faustina  iind  Araloros.) 


SCENE    VI 

FoNTANARES.       QuiNOLA. 

FONTANARES. — This  womau  is  as  perfidious  as  the 
winter  sun.  Oh,  how  I  hate  my  ill-luck  for  awaking 
in  me  such  suspicious  feelings!  Is  it  true,  then,  there 
are  virtues  one  must  cease  to  practice? 

(juiNOLA.  —  But,  sir,  why  should  one  suspect  the  inten- 
tions of  a  lady  whose  every  word  is,  so  to  speak, 
wrapped  up  in  gold?  She  is  in  love  with  you,  that's 
all.  Your  heart  must  be  very  small,  indeed,  if  it  can't 
contain  two  loves  at  the  same  time ! 

FONTANARES. — Hush !  hushi  Do  you  uot  know  that 
Maria  is  hope  itself!  She  has  comforted  my  very 
soul —     Yes,  yes,  I  will  succeed ! 

guiNOLA,  aside.  —  Where  has  Monipodio  gone? 
{Aloud.)  Reconciliation  is  an  easy  matter  with  a 
woman  so  kindly  disposed  as  the  Brancadori! 

FONTANARES,  7-eproarhfuUi/. — (Juinola ! 

QUINOLA. — Now,  sir,  you  are  really  upsetting  me 
with  your  misplaced  scruples!  How  can  you  expect 
to  fight  successfully  the  wiles  of  perfidious  love  with 
the  loyalty  of  a  blind  love?     I  need  Madame  Branca- 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  259 

dori's  influence  to  rid  us  of  Monipodio,  whose  inten- 
tions I  greatly  suspect.  When  that's  done,  I'll  answer 
for  your  final  success,  and  you  will  marry  your  Maria. 

FONTANAREs. — By  what  means? 

QUiNOLA. — Ah,  sir,  by  climbing  on  the  shoulders  of 
a  far-sighted  man  one  sees  even  farther  than  he  does. 
You  are  an  inventor —  lam  inventive!  You  saved 
nie  from — you  know  what!  I  will  save  you  from  the 
claws  of  envy  and  the  clutches  of  greed.  To  every- 
body his  business.  Here  is  gold ;  come  to  the  tailor 
and  buy  a  right  royal  outfit.  You  must  shov>r  yourself 
handsome  and  proud,  like  a  man  on  the  eve  of  a  great 
victory.  But,  remember,  you  will  have  to  be  partic- 
ularly nice  to  the  Brancadori! 

FONTANARES. — Oh,  Quiuola,  tell  me  how  to  do  that? 

QUINOLA. — No,  sir,  I  won't  do  it,  for  if  I  taught  you 

my  ways,  everything  would  be  lost.     You  have  too 

much  genius  to  be  lacking  in  the  simplicity  of  a  child. 

{Exeunt  both.) 

(Curtain  on  Tableau.) 


SECOND  TABLEAU 

{The  scene  changea  to  the  drawiny-iooni  in  Signora  Branca- 
dori's  pataee.) 

SCENE    VII 

FAUSTINA,  alone. — At  last,  I  have  reached  the  hour 
toward  whicli  all  my  efforts  have  been  directed  for 
fourteen  months!     In  a  few  moments,  Fontanares  will 


26o  Ql'INOLA'S    RESOURCES 

realize  that  he  has  lost  his  Maria  forever.  Avaloros, 
Sarpi  and  I  have  paralyzed  the  efforts  of  this  man's 
genius  and  brought  him  to  the  eve  of  his  final  experi- 
ment with  empty  hands,  and  with  nothing  but  enemies 
around  him.  Ah,  now  he  is  truly  mine!  But,  does 
one  ever  rise  from  contempt  to  love?  Alas,  never! 
Ah,  if  he  only  realized  that  for  over  a  year  I  have 
been  his  stubborn  enemy,  he  would  hate  me  savagely 
and  there  might  then  be  some  hope,  since  hatred  is 
not  the  counterpart  of  love,  but  simply  its  other  form. 
I  know  what  I  will  do.  I  will  tell  him  everything  and 
then  he  will  hate  me ! 


SCENE    VIII 

Fausti.na.      Pai^)UIT.\. 

PAQUiTA. — Madame,  your  orders  have  been  fulfilled 
to  the  letter  by  Monipodio.  Senorita  Lotundiaz  has 
just  been  told,  through  her  duenna,  that  Sefior  Fon- 
tanares  is  to  be  in  great  danger  to-night. 

FALSTi.NA. — Sarpi  must  have  arrived.  Tell  him  that 
I  want  to  speak  to  him. 

(hj.iil    Fat/ H  if  a.) 


SCENE    IX 

FAU'JTiNA,  (dune.  —  Monipodio  must  be  got  rid  of. 
Quinola  trembles  lest  he  has  received  the  order  to 
make  away  with  Fontanares;  such  a  fear  ought  not  be 
all'iwt'd  to  exist  for  a  minute. 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  261 

SCENE    X 
Faustina.     Don  Fregoso. 

FAUSTINA. — Yoli  are  particularly  welcome,  sir,  for  I 
have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you. 

DON  FUEGoso. — Your  rcqucst  bestows  a  favor  upon 
me. 

FAUSTINA. — Within  two  hours,  Monipodio  must  not 
be  in  Barcelona  nor  even  in  Spain;  ship  him  off  to 
Africa. 

DON  FREGOSo. — What  has  he  done  to  you? 

FAUSTINA. — Nothing. 

DON  FREGOSO. — Then  whv — ? 

FAUSTINA. — Just  becausc —     Do  you  understand? 

•DON  FREGoso. — I  do,  and  you  shall  be  obeyed  at  once. 
{He  sits  dotvn  at  a  table  and  Jjerjins  to  write.) 


,^CENE   XI 

The  Preceding.      Sarpi. 

FAUSTINA. — My  cousin,  have  you  in  your  possession 
the  papers  necessary  for  the  immediate  celebration  of 
your  marriage  with  Maria  Lotundiaz? 

sarpi. — Yes,  everything  is  in  readiness;  the  old 
gentleman  drew  up  the  settlements  long  ago. 

FAUSTINA. — Well  then,  notify  the  Convent  of  the 
Dominicans  to  have  their  church  prepared  for  the 
ceremony.  At  midnight,  you  shall  marry  the  heiress, 
with  her  full  and  free  consent,  {Low,  to  Sarpi.)  She 
will  accept  you  at  once  when  she  sees  her  Fontanares 
in  the  hands  of  the  alguazils. 


262  QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES 

SARPi. — I  understand —  All  that's  needed  is  to  have 
him  arrested  right  here.  My  position  and  fortune 
will  be  henceforth  unassailable — and  I  owe  this  to  you. 
{Aside.)     There's  no  such  lever  as  a  woman's  hatred! 

DON  FREGOSO,  rising  from  the  table ^  a  paper  in  his 
hand. — Sarpi,  have  this  order  attended  to  at  once  and 
without  mercy. 

[Exit  Sarpi.) 

SCENE   XII 

The  Preceding,  minns  Sarpi. 

DON  FREGOSO. — And  our  marriage,  Signf)ra,  when  is 
it  to  take  place? 

KAUSTiNA. — My  Lord,  my  whole  future  is  to  be 
decided  during  these  few  hours  of  festivity;  my 
answer  will  be  given  you  before  the  night  is  over. 
{Fonianares  appears  at  the  door.)  (Aside.)  Oh,  here 
he  comes!  {To  Don  Fregoso.)  If  you  truly  love  me, 
leave  me  for  a  few  moments. 

DON  FREGOSO,  pointing  to  Fontanares. — Alone  with 
him? 

FAUSTINA. — Yes;  it  is  my  decision. 

DON  FREGOSO. — Oh!  Siuce  he  loves  no  one  but  this 
girl,  Maria  Lotundiaz!     {Exit  Don  Fregoso.) 

SCENE    XIII 

Faustina.     Fontanares. 

FONTANARES. — The  pahice  of  the  King  of  Spain  is 
hardly  more  splendid  than  yours,  Madame,  and  you 
have  the  manners  of  a  sovereign. 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  263 

FAUSTINA. — Listen  to  me,  dear  Fontanares — 

FONTANARES. — Dear?  Ah,  Madame,  you  taught  me 
to  mistrust  such  words'. 

1  AUSTiNA. — At  last  you  will  leara  to  know  the  woman 
you  have  so  cruelly  insulted.  A  horrible  disaster  is 
threatening  you.  I  have  just  been  told  that  Sarpi, 
acting  as  the  instrument  of  a  terrible  power  bent  upon 
crushing  you,  may  cause  this  fete,  under  my  own  roof 
to  seem  like  the  kiss  of  Judas.  I  am  informed  that,  in 
this  very  hall,  you  will  be  arrested  and  led  to  jail. 
Then  your  trial  will  begin,  never  to  come  to  an  end. 
In  the  few  hours  left  you,  will  you  be  able  to  complete 
the  equipment  of  the  ship  confided  to  you?  Alas,  no 
such  thing  is  possible  and  your  work  is  doomed. 
Now  I,  and  I  alone,  can  save  you — you  and  your 
glory — you  and  your  fortune — 

FONTANARES. — You  cau  do  that!     And  how? 

FAUSTINA. — Avaloros  has  placed  at  my  disposal  one 
of  his  swiftest  ships ;  from  Monipodio  I  have  secured 
a  band  of  his  best  smugglers —  Let  us  set  sail  for 
Venice.  The  Republic  will  make  you  a  patrician  and 
give  you,  for  your  invention,  ten  times  more  gold  than 
Spain  would  think  of  paying  you—  {Aside.)  They 
are  not  coming ! 

FONTANARES. — If  Maria  is  to  go  with  us,  I  will  trust 
you! 

FAUSTINA. — What !  You  think  of  her  when  you  have 
but  a  few  minutes  in  which  to  choose  between  life  and 
death !  Decide  now,  at  once,  or  it  will  be  too  late — 
We  shall  be  lost! 

FONTANARES. — We,  Madame?     Why,  We? 


264  QUINOLAS   RKSOURCliS 


SCENE    XIV 

Thk  Pi;i  ceding.      Soldikrs  appear  at  all  the  doors. 
An  Alcalde.      Sakpi. 

sARPi. — Do  your  duty  I 

THE  ALCALDE,  to  Funfa/urren. — I  arrest  you  in  the 
name  of  the  King. 

FONTANARES. — The  hour  of  my  death  ha.s  come.  But 
I  carry  my  secret  away  with  me  and  my  love  will  be 
my  shroud. 


SCENE    XV 

The  I'KECi.niNG.     Makl\  Lotundiaz.      Lotundiaz. 

MARIA  lotlndia/. — They  told  nic  the  truth:  you 
have  been  delivered  into  the  hands  of  your  enemies. 
It  is  my  duty  then  to  die  in  your  stead,  dearest 
Alfonso,  and  what  a  death  it  is  to  be!  Beloved, 
heaven  is  jealous  of  too  perfect  love  and  these  cruel 
events  we  believe  due  to  fate,  are  meant  to  teach  us 
that  there  is  no  perfect  happiness  except  in  God.  You, 
my  own — 

SARPI. — Senorital 

lotundia/. — Daughter ! 

MARIA. — Father,  Count  Sarpi, — you  have  granted 
mc  these  few  moments  of  freedom —  Keep  your 
promises  and  I  will  keep  mine —  You,  the  sublime 
inventor,  you  soon  will  assume  the  obligations  of 
greatness;  you  will  have  to  face  the  struggles  of  your 
growing  ambition;  these  will  suffice  to  fill  your  life. 
During  those  years,  the  Countess  Sarpi  will  die  a  slow 


(JUINOLAS    l-lKSOURCliS  265 

and  obscure  death  within  the  walls  of  licr  mansion. 
My  father,  Count  Sarpi,  it  is  well  understood,  is  it  not, 
that  in  exchange  for  this  supreme  act  of  submission 
on  my  part,  the  Viceroy  of  Catalonia  grants  to  Senor 
Fontanares  an  extension  of  one  year  in  which  to  com- 
plete his  experiments? 

KONTANARF.s. — But,  Maria,  I  cannot  live  without  you  !  I 

MARIA. — I  shall  have  to  live  with  your  tormentor! 

FONTANARES. — Farewell,  then;  I  prefer  to  die! 

MARIA. — Have  you  not  solemnly  pledged  yourself  to 
the  King  of  Spain,  to  the  world?  {In  a  low  voice.) 
Triumph  first —     We  will  die  afterwards  I 

FONTANARES. — Be  not  his,  I  accept — 

MARIA. — Father,  fulfill  your  promise. 

FAUSTINA. — I  have  won! 

LOTUNDiAZ,  in  a  loir  voice  to  Fontanares. — Vile 
seducer!  (Aloud.)  Here  are  ten  thousand  ducats. 
[Low.)  Infamous  wretch!  [Aloud.)  One  year  of  my 
daughter's  income.  {Low.)  May  the  plague  carry 
you  off.  {Alond.)  Ten  thousand  ducats  which  Seiior 
Avaloros  will  pay  you  on  receipt  of  this  order. 

FONTANARES. — But,  Sciior,  docs  His  Lordship,  the 
Viceroy,  consent  to  these  arrangements? 

SARPi. — You  publicly  accused  the  Viceroy  of  Cata- 
lonia of  not  honoring  the  promises  of  the  King  of 
Spain!  Here  is  our  answer  to  your  charge,  {flc pulls 
(I  paper  from  his  jwckef.)  This  is  a  decree  which,  in 
the  interest  of  the  State,  stops  all  the  proceedings  of 
your  creditors  against  you  and  gives  you  one  full  year 
in  which  to  fulfill  your  promises. 

FONTANARES. — I  Will  be  Tcady. 

LOTUNDIAZ. — He  sticks  to  his  hobby!  Now,  my 
daughter,  come  with  me  to  the  convent  of  the  Domini- 


i66  QUINOLAS    RKSOURCES 

cans;  the  j;ood  fathers  must  be  waiting  for  us  by  this 
time.  His  Lordship  does  us  the  honor  of  attending 
the  ceremony. 

^^ARIA. — So  soon!  {The  wJiolc  party  lea  res  in  a  pro- 
cession.) 

lAUSTiNA,  lo  Ptir/i(i/a. — Go  with  them,  aiitl  let  me 
know  as  soon  as  the  bond  is  tied. 


SCENE    XVI 

Faustina.      Fonianares. 

FAUSTINA,  aside. — He  is  there,  motionless,  as  if  stand- 
ing on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  with  a  pack  of  tigers 
after  him —  (Aloud.)  Why  is  not  your  heart  as 
immense  as  your  brains?  Is  there  but  one  woman  in 
this  world? 

FONTANARts. — And  do  you  really  believe,  Madame, 
that  a  man  can  pull  such  a  love  from  his  heart  as  he 
would  a  sword  from  its  scabbard? 

FAUSTINA. — That  a  woman  should  love  and  serve  you, 
I  understand  well  enough;  but  for  you  to  love  so 
madly  is  for  you  to  give  up  a  throne.  All  that  the 
greatest  men  have  ever  aimed  at:  fame,  honor.s, 
wealth,  more  than  these — a  sovereignty  above  revolu- 
tions, the  sovereignty  of  genius,  a  i)Ower  over  multi- 
tudes equal  to  that  of  an  Alexander,  a  Caesar,  a 
Charles  the  Fifth,  is  awaiting  you!  And  you  have 
placed  between  j-ou  and  this  magnificent  existence  a 
pitiful  love  affair  worthy  of  a  student  at  the  Alcala 
University!  Born  a  giant,  yon  take  pleasure  in 
dwindling  to  a  dwarf!      Don't  you  know  that  every 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  267* 

man  of  genius  has,  somewhere  in  the  world,  a  woman 
especially  created  for  him.  In  the  eyes  of  society  she 
must  be  a  queen ;  before  him,  the  humblest,  most 
obedient  of  servants,  ready  to  face  with  a  cheerful 
visage  all  the  buffets  of  life's  struggles,  and  to  be  far- 
seeing  in  prosperity  as  well  as  in  adversity.  She  must 
be  indulgent  to  his  every  whim,  and  wise  in  the 
world's  wiles  and  perils;  capable,  in  a  word,  to  sit 
like  a  queen  in  the  chariot  of  his  triumph  after  help- 
ing drag  it  up  the  steepest  hills. 

FONTANARES. — Is  it  hcT  portrait  you  have  just  been 
drawing? 

FAUSTINA. — The  portrait  of  whom? 

FONTANARES. — Of  Maria. 

FAUSTINA. — Has  this  child  known  how  to  defend  you? 
Has  she  guessed  who  her  riviil  was?  The  maiden  who 
has  allowed  herself  to  be  robbed  of  you — is  she  worthy 
of  keeping  you?  A  mere  puppet,  who  let  herself  be 
dragged  step  by  step  to  the  altar  before  which  she  is 
standing  this  minute !  I  would  have  killed  myself  at 
your  feet  rather  than  have  submitted!  And  upon 
whom  does  she  bestow  herself?  Upon  the  unflinching 
enemy  who  has  received  the  command  to  see  that  your 
enterprise  fail! 

FONTANARES. — Ah,  but  how  could  I  help  being  true 
to  that  inexhaustible  love  that  came  thrice  to  my 
rescue  and  which  did  save  me  for  a  time?  To  that 
love  which,  when  it  has  nothing  more  to  offer,  sacri- 
fices itself  upon  the  altar  of  fate  and  returns  to  me 
my  honor,  in  this  paper,  the  letter  giving  me  back  my 
King's  esteem  and  the  world's  admiration ! 

{Enter  Paquita  who  nods  to  her  mistress  behind  Fonta- 
) tares'  back.) 


26S  (JUIXOLA'S    RHSOr]«lCl':S 

V  AUiiTis  A,  aside. -^She  is  now  Countess  S.'irpi  I  ('/'<> 
Fonlaiwrcs.)  At  last  thy  life,  thy  fame,  thy  honor, 
arc  in  my  hands  I  Maria  will  never  again  stand 
between  us  I 

FONTANARF.S. Us  I       Us  I 

1  AusTiNA. — Why  give  me  the  lie,  Alfonso?  I  have 
now  conquered  all  that  was  and  is  yours  except  your 
heart!  And  in  my  love  you  will  find  the  most  submis- 
sive, the  most  intelligent  devotion—  Yes.  and  it  will 
help  you  to  the  rank  to  which  you  are  entitled  among 
men  I 

KONTANAREs. — Your  audacity  frightens  me!  With 
this  sum  I  am  still  master  of  my  destiny.  (//?  shoim 
lirr  LotiDidiffz's  order  on  Avftloros.)  And  when  the 
King  shall  have  witnessed  my  work  and  its  results  he 
will  grant  my  supplications  and  cause  this  marriage, 
stained  with  violence,  to  be  annulled  by  the  Holy 
Father ! 

FAUSTINA. — Fontanarcs,  if  I  love  you  so  madly  it  is 
perhaps  on  account  of  your  extraordinary  simplicity, 
doubtless,  the  stamp  of  genius — 

FONTANARES,  fisido. — When  she  smiles  that  way  she 
gives  me  the  cold  shivers — 

FAUSTINA. — That  gold,  is  it  in  your  ])osscssii)U 
already? 

FONTANARES,  s/iot('i)if/  llir  jH(per  i/i  /lis  lunids. — Yes, 
there  it  is. 

FAUSTINA.  —  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  tlK- 
paper  would  have  been  given  you  if  the  sum  was 
really  to  come  into  your  hands?  Why,  when  you 
reach  Avaloros'  bank  you'll  find  that  your  creditors 
have  attached  the  amount  in  advance.  Not  a  cent  will 
be   paid   to  you.      And,  without   gold,  where   will   you 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCliS  269 

be?  The  old  fig'ht  will  have  to  be  fought  all  over 
again.  For  the  parts  of  your  machine  have  not  been 
scattered;  they  are  all  mine,  bought  for  me  by  Mateo 
Magis  and  now  stored  in  this  palace  under  our  feet. 
I  am  the  only  one  who  will  not  steal  from  you  fame  or 
fortune,  for  it  would  be  like  robbing  myself — 

FONT  AN  ARES. — What?  You  did  all  that?  You  cursed 
Venetian  woman ! 

FAUSTINA. — I  did — I  did!  Since  you  insulted  me, 
months  ago,  I  have  been  the  leading  spirit  in  the 
relentless  war  waged  against  you !  I  was  behind 
Magis  and  Sarpi,  behind  your  creditors,  behind  the 
host  of  the  Sol  d'Oro,  behind  your  rioting  laborers! 
But  how  much  love  was  at  work  under  this  pretended 
hatred!  Were  you  never  awakened,  during  your 
troubled  slumber,  by  a  tear,  the  precious  pearl  of  true 
repentance  falling  from  my  sorrowing  eyes  on  the  face 
of  my  adored  martyr — 

FONTANAREs. — You  are  not,  you  cannot  be  a  woman! 

FAUSTINA. — You  are  right,  there  is  more  than  a 
woman  in  a  woman  Avho  loves  like  this! 

FONTANARES. — Thcn,  if  you  are  not  a  woman,  I  can 
kill  you ! ! 

FAUSTINA. — If  it  be  with  vour  own  hand,  yes,  yes! 
{Aside.)     How  he  hates  me! 

FONTANAKKs. — I  am  trying  to  find — 

FAUSTINA. — A  weapon? 

FONTANARKS. — No,  a  tortuTC  that  may  ecjual  your 
crime — 

FAUSTINA. — There  is  no  torture  that  can  frighten  a 
woman  who  loves  as  I  do —     Just  put  me  to  the  test! 

FONTANARES. — So,  you  lovc  me,  Faustina?  I  am 
your  very  life?     My  grief  is  your  grief? 


2  70  gUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

KAUsTiNA. — For  each  p^rief  you  suffer,  I  suffer  a 
thousand! 

FONT  AN  ARES. — If  I  dic,  j'ou  wiU  dic  also?  Well 
then,  and  although  your  life  be  not  worth  the  love  I 
liave  lost,  I  have  decided  what  to  do. 

FAUSTINA. — Ah! 

KONTANAKKS. — I  will  await  in  silence  and  witli  folded 
arms,  the  day  when  sentence  will  have  to  be  passed 
upon  me.  Thus  Maria's  soul  and  mine  will  flow  to 
heaven  together. 

i-AUSTiNA,  throiiUHf/  /icKself  at  Jii's  feet. — Alfonso,  I 
will  remain  at  your  feet  until  you  promise  me — 

roNTANARES. — Ah,  infamous  courtesan,  away  from 
me,  away  from  me!     (lie ])hsJics  her  nwa>/.) 

lAUSTiNA. — In  the  open  square,  you  cried  out  that 
men  end  by  worshiping  what  they  first  despised. 


SCENE     XVII 

The  Prf.ceding.     Don  Fregoso. 

DON  FREGOSO,  7/7/0  Jias  hoard  the  lad  words  of  Fonta- 
iiarcs. — You  wretched  artisan!  If,  for  this  insult,  I  do 
not  thrust  my  sword  through  your  miserable  body  it  is 
because  I  will  make  you  suffer  more  dearly  for  this  out- 
rage! 

FAUSTINA. — Don  Fregoso,  I  love  this  man  and 
whether  he  takes  me  as  his  wife  or  as  his  slave,  my 
love  must  be  his  shield  in  your  eyes! 

roNTANAREs. — MoTc  pcrsecutions.  My  Lord!  Vou 
fill  me  with  joy!  Strike  me  one  hundred  blows — 
She  says  that  she  will  feci  them  tenfold  on  her  heart — 
I^cgin,  1  am  ready! 


gUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  271 


SCENE    XVIII 

The  Prfxkding.      Quinola. 

QUiNOLA. — Sir! 

FONTANAREs. — Are  you  also  betraying  me? 
QUINOLA. — Monipodio  is  now  sailing  toward  Africa 
with  bracelets  on  his  wrists  and  ankles. 

FONTANARES. What  Of  it? 

QUINOLA. — He  and  I,  under  pretense  of  robbing  you, 
had  duplicates  made  of  every  part  of  your  machine 
and  they  are  safely  stored  in  a  cellar  known  to  me 
only. 

FONTANARES. — Ah,  witli  onc  true  friend  like  this, 
despair  is  not  possible.  {He  embraces  Qjiinola.)  My 
Lord,  write  to  the  King,  build  in  front  of  the  harbor 
an  amphitheater  for  two  hundred  thousand  spectators ! 
Ten  days  from  now,  my  promises  shall  have  been  ful- 
filled and  Spain  shall  see  a  ship  propelled  only  by 
steam,  navigating  the  waters  of  the  harbor  against 
wind  and  tide !     Come  the  storm  I  will  conquer  it ! 

FAUSTINA. — You  really  manufactured  another — 

QUINOLA, — I  manufactured  two,  in  case  of  accident. 

FAUSTINA. — What  imps  of  darkness  did  that  for  you? 

QUINOLA. — The  three  children  of  Job:  Silence, 
Patience,  Perseverance. 

{Exeiuit  Fontanares  and  Quinola.) 


(JUINOI.A'S    RI^SOURCES 


SCENE    XIX 

FvusTiNA.     Don  Fregoso. 

DON  FREGOSO,  (ttiitle. — Plcr  conduct  is  abominable — 
and  I  love  her  still! 

FAUSTINA. — I  must  have  my  revenge  I  Will  you  help 
me? 

DON  FKF.Goso. — Yes,  and  we  will  ruin  him! 

FAUSTINA. — Ah,  you  do  love  me  in  spite  of  every- 
thing— you! 

DON  FRFGOso. — Alas,  after  such  a  scandal,  how  can  I 
make  you  Marchioness  of  Fregoso? 

FAUSTINA. — Ah,  if  I  made  but  a  sign — 

DON  FREGOSO. — I  Can  disposc  of  myself,  Madame;  of 
my  ancestors,  never! 

FAUSTINA. — A  love  that  is  not  boundless  is  not  love! 
C)ood-by,  My  Lord,  I  shall  revenge  myself  single- 
handed. 

DON  FREGOso. — Bclovcd  Faustina — 

FAUSTINA. — Beloved ! 

DON  FUEGoso. — Yes,  dearly  beloved,  now  and  for- 
ever! From  this  hour,  Fregoso  is  nothing  but  a 
wretched  old  man  whose  sorrow  will  find  a  terrible 
avenger  in  this  cursed  artisan.  My  life  is  closed.  Be 
kind  and  do  not  return  to  me  the  pictures  I  was  so 
delighted  to  offer  you.  {Aside.)  She  will  need  their 
value  soon  enough.  {Aloud.)  They  will  remind  you 
of  a  man  you  treated  cruelly  many  a  time,  but  who  for- 
gave you  over  and  over  again,  for,  with  his  passionate 
love  for  you,  was  mixed  a  deep  paternal  affection. 

FAUSTINA. — If  1  were  not  so  mad,  Don  Fregoso,  I 
almost  think  that  you  would  soften  me;  but  it  is  only 


nUIXOLAS    RKSOUKCKS  27.^ 

at  the  right  moment  that  one  can  bring  tears  into  my 
eyes! 

DON  FREGOso. — To  the  last,  then,  I  shall  have  clone 
things  at  the  wrong  time! 

FAUSTINA. — Did  I  not  love  him  as  I  do,  your  touch- 
ing farewell  would  secure  you  my  heart  and  my  hand. 
For,  in  spite  of  all.  My  Lord,  I  could  yet  make  you  a 
proud  and  worthy  wife. 

DON  FREGOSO. — Then  listen  to  this  appeal  toward  an 
honest  life  and  do  not  throw  yourself  blindly  into  the 
abyss ! 

FAUSTINA, — You  See,  I  may  yet  be  Marchioness  of 
Fregoso!     {Exit  Faustina,  laughing.) 


SCENE    XX 

DON  KREGoso,  alo7ie. — Old  men  ought,  indeed,  to  be 
heartless. 


(Curtain  on  Fgukth  Act.) 


FIFTH    ACT 

(The  staije  represoits  u  terrace  hi  /n»it  of  the  Darcelonu  City 
Hall,  flanked  on  either  side  by  lofty  pavilions.  Jt  faces  the  sea, 
and  a  broad  balcony  runs  along  the  back  of  the  stage.  In  the  dis- 
tance, masts  are  seen,  showing  some  large  ship  to  be  close  by. 
Jliere  are  entrances,  right  a)id  left.  A  high  armchair,  other 
seats  and  a  table  are  grouped  to  the  riglit  of  the  spectators.  One 
hears  the  cheers  of  an  immense  croivd.  Leaning  orrr  the  balcony, 
Faustina  is  gazing  upon  the  steamboat  half  hidden  from  vie^o 
of  the  audience.  To  the  left  stands  Lotundiaz  jilnnged  in  the 
deepest  stupefaction.  To  the  right  sta)ids  Don  Fregoso  and  a 
secretary  who  has  just  completed  the  report  of  the  eaperiment. 
The  Orandlnguisitor  occupies  the  center  of  the  stage. ) 


SCENE     I 

Lotundiaz.     Thk  Grand-In(>uisitor.     Don  Fregoso. 

DON  FREGOSO.  —  I  aiii  lost,  Tuincd,  dislionored  I 
Should  I  throw  myself  at  the  Kinj,'*s  feet  I  would  find 
him  merciless  I 

LOTUNDIAZ. — What  a  price  I  have  had  to  pay  for  my 
patents  of  nobility!  My  son  killed  in  an  ambuscade, 
away  in  the  Low  Countries!  My  daughter  at  the 
point  of  death,  and  her  husband,  the  Governor  of 
Roussillon,  refusing  to  let  her  come  to  mc  for  fear  that 
she  be  present  on   the  day  of    Fontanares'   triumph! 

271 


QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES  275 

She  was  right  when  she  said  I  would  repent,  some  day, 
my  obstinate  blindness! 

THE  oRAND-iNQuisiTOR,  to  Do7i  Fref/oso. — The  Holy 
Office  has  reminded  the  King  of  your  past  services; 
you  are  to  be  appointed  Viceroy  of  Peru  where  a  few 
years  will  suffice  to  reconstruct  your  fortune.  But 
before  you  go,  you  must  complete  your  work ;  we 
must  crush  this  sacrilegious  inventor  and  smother  his 
dangerous  invention, 

DON  FREGOSO. — But  how  cau  this  be  done?  Must  I 
not  obey  His  Majesty's  orders,  at  least  in  appearance? 

THE  GRAND-INQUISITOR. — Wc  havc  prepared  you  the 
means  of  proving  your  obedience  to  the  Holy  Office  as 
well  as  to  the  King.  You  will  simply  have  to  act  as 
you  are  told.  (To  Lotundiaz.)  Count  Lotundiaz,  as 
the  chief  magistrate  of  Barcelona,  ^'■ou  are  instructed 
to  offer,  in  the  name  of  the  city,  the  prepared  crown 
of  gold  to  Don  Ramon,  author  of  the  glorious  discov- 
ery which  secures  to  Spain  the  empire  of  the  seas. 

LOTUNDIAZ,  surprised. — To  Don  Ramon? 

THE-    GRAND-INQUISITOR     and    DON    FREGOSO. To     DoH 

Ramon. 

DON  FREGOSO. — You  wiU  addrcss  him  your  congratu- 
lations. 

LOTUNDIAZ. But 

THE  GRAND  -  INQUISITOR. — By  Order  of  the  Holy 
Office. 

LOTUNDIAZ,  lending  his  kneea. — Forgive  me. 

DON  FREGOSO. — What  name  do  you  hear  the  crowd 
shouting?     [Outside  cries  of  ^'^ Long  live  Don   Ramon.''^) 

LOTUNDIAZ. — I  hear  "Long  Live  Don  Ramon!" 
Well,  I  like  it  better  that  way.  I'll  get  some  revenge 
for  all  the  harm  I  have  done  to  myself! 


276  gUINOLAS    RESOURCES 


SCENE    II 

The  Preceding.     Don   Ramon.     Mateo  Magis.     The 
Host  of  the  Sol  d'Oro.     Coppolus.     Esteban. 

GiRONK.        A   CKOWD  OV   Poi'UI.ACE. 

{AH  the  characters  as  wrll  as  the  poj/itlace  grunp  them- 
selves in  a  semicircle  to  the  renter  of  which  Don  Ramon  is 
led  with  mnch  ceremo7iy.) 

THE  grand-inouisitok. — In  the  name  of  His  Majesty 
the  King  of  Spain,  Castile  and  the  Indies,  I  address 
you,  Don  Ramon,  the  congratulation  due  to  your  mag- 
nificent genius.      {He  leads  him  to  the  chair  of  State.) 

DON  KAMON,  aside. — After  all,  the  other  was  merely 
the  hand,  I  was  the  head.  Ideas  are  above  machines. 
{To  the  crowd.)  On  such  a  day,  modesty  would  be  out 
of  place  and  an  insult  to  those  honors  conquered 
through  so  many  vigils.  One  has  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  one's  successes! 

i.oTUNDiAz. — In  the  name  of  the  City  of  Barcelona,  I 
offer  you,  Don  Ramon,  this  crown  of  gold  which  is 
truly  yours  as  a  reward  for  your  perseverance,  in 
bestowing  upon  the  world  an  invention  worthy  of 
immortality. 


SCENE    III 

Thk  Preceding.      Fontanares,  his  clothts  all  soiled  bif 
the  v'ork  but  just  completed. 

DON     RAMf)N. —  I     accept —        {notici/uj      Fontanares) 
under  the  condition   thai    I   shall   shaie   these   honors 


CJUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  277 

with  the  courageous  artisan  who  has  so  worthily 
assisted  me  in  my  undertakinjj. 

FAUSTINA. — How  modest ! 

FONTANARKs. — Is  this  a  jolce? 

ALL. — Long-  live  Don  Ramon! 

coppoLUS. — Don  Ramon,  in  the  name  of  the  mer- 
chants of  Barcelona  we  beg  you  to  accept  this  silver 
crown,  as  a  token  of  their  gratitude  for  a  discovery 
which  is  to  open  a  new  era  of  commercial  prosperity. 

ALL. — Long  live  Don  Ramon! 

DON  RAMON. — I  am  delighted  to  see  that  the  busi- 
ness world  imderstands  the  value  of  steam. 

KONTANARKS. — Come  forward,  O  you,  my  workmen, 
whom  I  notice  in  this  crowd;  you,  sons  of  the  common 
people,  whose  labor  and  sweat  had  a  part  in  my  work, 
come  forward  and  bear  witness  before  all!  Tell  them 
whether  or  not  the  models  you  forged  came  solely  out 
of  my  own  hands;  speak  out  and  say  who,  Don 
Ramon  or  myself,  has  created  this  new  power  which 
the  sea  has  just  been  compelled  to  acknowledge? 

ESTEBAN. — I  can  only  say  that  without  Don  Ramon 
you  would  have  found  yourself  in  a  bad  muddle ! 

MAGis. — ^lore  than  two  years  ago  I  had  a  talk  with 
Don  Ramon  on  the  subject  and  he  asked  me  to  supply 
the  funds  for  this  experiment. 

FONTANAREs,  to  DoH  Frcgoso. — My  Lord,  what  is  this 
strange  vertigo  that  has  seized  the  whole  population 
of  Barcelona?  I  enter  this  palace  still  covered  with 
the  noble  stains  of  my  labor,  and  I  am  greeted  with 
cheers  addressed  to  Don  Ramon,  and  I  see  you  here, 
standing  motionless  and  silent,  thus  sanctioning  the 
most  shameful  robbery  ever  committed  on  the  face  of 
the  earth.      {Mutteringa  iyi  the  crowd.)     Alone  I  made  a 


27S  OriNOLAS    RESOURCES 

j)romise  to  the  King-  of  Spain,  ulone  I  risked  my  liead 
in  an  attempt  to  fulfill  that  promise — and  now,  now 
that  everything  is  done,  completed,  accepted,  I  find 
here,  in  my  stead,  an  ignoranuis,  a  Don  Ramon  1 1 
{Inrreased  mutterifir/s. ) 

DON  FRF.Goso. — An  old  soldier  has  but  a  poor  knowl- 
edge of  scientific  matters,  sir,  and  has  to  accept  facts 
as  they  are  presented  to  him.  All  Catalonia  recog- 
nizes that  Don  Ramon  is  entitled  to  ])riority  as  far  as 
this  invention  is  concerned,  and  everybody  here 
declares  that  you  could  have  reached  no  result  with- 
out him.  It  is  my  duty  to  inform  His  Majesty  of  the 
circumstances  in  the  case. 

KONTANARKS. — Hc  has  the  ])riority,  has  he?  The 
proof? 

iHE  GRAND-iNQUisiTOK. — In  his  work  on  the  casting 
of  cannons,  Don  Ramon  speaks  of  an  invention  called 
thunder,  by  your  teacher,  Leonardo  da  \'inci,  and  adds 
that  it  might  be  applied  to  navigation. 

DON  KA.MON.  —  .'Vnd  so,  after  all,  you  have  been  read- 
ing my  works,  young  man? 

KO.NTANAREs,  ((siUc. — Oh,  I  would  givc  my  glory  for 
revenge  I 


vSCENE    IV 

TnK  Preckuing.     Quinola. 

guiNoi.A,  low  tti  his  master. — Sir,  tlie  pear  was  too 
fine — there  is  a  worm  in  it. 

FONTANARF.s. — What  do  you  mean? 

yuiNOLA.  —  I  think  it  must  be  hell  that  has  returned 
to  us  that  man  Monipodio,  athirst  for  revenge.      He  is 


QUINOLA'S   RESOURCES  279 

on  board  your  ship  with  a  gang  of  rascals  and  ready  to 
sink  it  if  you  do  not  at  once  send  him  ten  thousand 
ducats. 

FONTANARES. — Hcavcn  has  hcard  mc!  The  ocean  I 
wanted  to  conquer  is  to-day  my  only  protector  and 
will  keep  my  secret  forever!  {To  Quinola.)  Hurry 
up  and  manage  it  so  that  Monipodio  will  sink  m}'  ship 
within  the  next  few  minutes. 

QUINOLA. — What!  Sink  the  ship!  Which  of  us  is 
stark  mad,  sir? 

FONTANARES.  — Obey. 

QUINOLA. — But,  my  dear  master — 

FONTANARES. — Obey —  Your  life  and  mine  are  at 
stake ! 

QUINOLA. — To  obey  without  knowing  why — it  will 
be  the  first  time;  but  I  will  risk  it.     {Exit  Quinola.) 


SCENE   V 

The  Preceding,  minus  Quinola. 

FONTANARES,  to  DoH  Freffoso. — My  Lord,  let  us  set 
aside,  for  the  present,  the  question  of  priority,  which 
will  be  easily  settled  by  the  courts.  The  important 
point  for  me,  just  now,  is  to  keep  my  head  from  being 
placed  again  in  jeopardy.  You  cannot  refuse  me  a 
transcript  of  the  official  records  showing  that  the 
experiment  has  proved  successful  and  that  I  have 
redeemed  my  promise  to  the  King. 

DON  RAMON. — Then  you  recognize  the  validity  of  my 
claims — ? 


2So  QUINOLA'S    RESOURCES 

FONTANARF.s. — 1  fccognizc  cvcrvthiiig  you  wish  mc 
to  admit,  even  that  C)  ^  O  is  a  binomial. 

DON  iREGOSo,  aftcr  /uiriiif/  ronsnUrd  llir  (iranr/- 
Inquisitor. — Your  request  is  a  proper  one.  Here  is  an 
attested  copy  of  the  records;  the  original,  we  keep. 

KONTANARKS. — Thcn  mv  life  is  safe.  Now,  all  you 
here  present,  you  proclaim  Don  Ramon,  also  present, 
the  real  inventor  of  the  ship  which  you  have  just 
seen  propelled  by  steam  against  wind  and  tide,  in  full 
view  of  two  hundred  thousand  Spaniards? 

ALL,  mitJi  one  voice. — We  do! 

FONTANARF.s. — Then,  if  Don  Ramon  is  the  author  of 
this  marvel,  he  will  have  no  trouble  doing  the  whole 
thing  over  again  {a  trrrific  noise  is  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance) now  that  this  extraordinary  vessel  has  ceased 
to  exist!  {Commoiinn  in  the  rroird.)  Such  a  power  as 
steam  is  not  handled  without  danger,  and  this  peril 
which  Don  Ramon  did  not  suspect,  has  caused  a  dis- 
aster just  as  he  was  receiving  his  rewards!  {f7renf 
iuninlt  outside.  Everybody  in  the  hnU  rashes  to  the  bal- 
cony to  sec  what  is  happeniny  in  the  ]iarl>or.)  Vengeance 
is  mine! 

DON  FRKGOSo,  to  the  (irand- Inquisitor . — What  will  the 
King  say? 

THK  GRAND-iNouisiToR. — Oh,  Fraucc  is  afire,  the  Low 
Countries  are  rising  in  revolt,  1 1  is  Majesty  has  too 
many  cares  to  trouble  himself  about  a  ship  more  or 
less.  This  invention  and  the  Reformation— it  was 
loo  much  at  one  time!  For  some  centuries  to  come 
the  world  will  escape  the  contagion  of  ideas. 
(Exeunt  all.) 


QUINOLA'S  RESOURCES  a8i 


SCENE   VI 

QUINOLA.        FONTANAKES.        FAUSTINA. 

FAUSTINA. — Alfonso,  hovv  much  harm  I  have  done 
you  I 

FONTANARES. — Maria  is  dying,  Madame;  I  do  not 
any  longer  know  the  meaning  of  good  and  evil ! 

QUINOLA. — He  is  a  man  at  last! 

FAUSTINA. — Only  forgive  me,  and  I  will  devote 
mysejf  to  building  you  another  career ! 

FONTANARES. — FoTgivc — that  is  another  word  erased 
from  my  lexicon.  From  certain  torments,  the  heart 
emerges  either  broken  or  steeled.  A  few  months  ago, 
I  was  but  twenty-five  years  old;  to-day,  I  am  fifty! 
You  made  me  lose  a  world — you  owe  me  another — 

FAUSTINA. — Alfonso,  is  not  a  love  like  mine  worth 
more  than  a  world? 

FONTANARES. — ludccd  it  is,  foT,  through  it,  you  have 
become  an  extraordinary  instrument  of  ruin  and 
destruction.  From  this  day  on,  with  you  as  my  slave, 
I  shall  overcome  and  humiliate  all  those,  who  have 
dared  to  stand  in  my  way ! 

FAUSTINA. — I  will  be  your  slave,  doing  your  bidding 
without  a  word ! 

FONTANARES. — But  harboT  no  hope  of  conquering 
me —  You  know,  henceforth,  there  will  be  nothing 
but  steel  here —  {He  strikes  Jiis  left  breast.)  You 
taught  me  what  the  world  is — nothing  but  greediness, 
low  cunning  and  treachery!  There  will  be  two  of  us 
fighting  it  with  its  own  weapons ! 

QUINOLA. — Sir? 

FONTANARES. — Well? 


282  QUINOLAS   RESOURCES 

(juiNOLA. — Whal  of  mc? 

KONTANARKs. — You,  Quinola,  the  only  one  for  whom 
there  is  a  warm  spot  left  in  my  heart!  Why,  the  three 
of  us  are  goinjj  to — 

FAUSTINA.  —  Going  to? 

FONTANARES. — To  France. 

FAUSTINA. — Let  us  Start  at  once;  I  know  Spain  and 
they  must  already  be  planning  your  death. 

QUINOLA. — Quinola's  resources  are  now  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea.  Please  excuse  his  blunders;  he  surely 
will  do  better  in  Paris.  And,  besides,  I  believe  hell 
is  paved  with  good  inventions! 

(Final    Curtain.) 


PAMELA   GIRAUD 

A  Play  in  Five  Acts 


Presented  for  the  first  time,  at  the  Theatre  de  la  Gaite^ 
in  Paris,  September  26,  ^^43- 


CHARACTERS 

General  dk  Verbv. 

DuTRE,  a  lawyer. 

Rousseau,  a  wealthy  Parisian  merchant. 

fuLES  Rousseau,  his  son. 

Joseph  Binkt. 

GiRAUD,  a  janitor  and  the  father  of  Pamela. 

The  Chief  of  the  Secret  Police. 

ANTdiNE,  a  servant  of  Monsieur  Rousseau. 

Pamki-a  Giraud. 

Madam K  nu  Brocard   a  widow. 

Madamk  Rousseau. 

Mother  Giraup. 

Justine,  maid  to  Madame  Rousseau. 

An  Investigating  Judge. 

A  Police  Captain. 

Policemen,  gendarmes,  etc 


The  action  takrs  place  in  Paris,  at  the  time  of  a   Napoleonic 
conspiracy,  under  Louis  XVIIl.  {iSis-24). 


PAMELA    GIRAUD 


FIRST    ACT 

{The  stage  represents  the  itUcvior  of  a  mansard-roofed  garret 
used  as  a  bed-room  and  u'orking-room  bij  an  artificial-Jfoicer 
maker.  It  is  poorlji  lighted  by  means  of  a  talloii'-candle  on  the 
work-table.  The  rear  of  the  stage  shoies  the  slope  of  the  man- 
sard-roof to  be  steep  enough  for  a  man  to  hide  under  it,  close  to 
the  floor,  near  the  ivindow.  The  door  is  at  the  right;  an  open 
fire-place,  at  the  left. 


SCENE     I 

Pamela,   loorkinc/  at   her  flower-bench.      Joseph  Binet, 
seated  near  her.     Later  Jules  Rousseau. 

PAMELA. — Monsieur  Joseph  Binet. 

JOSEPH. — Mademoiselle  Pamela  Giraud? 

PAMELA. — Do  you  really  want  me  to  hate  you? 

JOSEPH. — Of  course,  if  hatred  is  to  be  the  beginning 
of  love — hate  me  as  hard  as  you  can. 

PAMELA. — Drop  this  nonsense. 

JOSEPH. — So,  you  won't  let  me  tell  you  how  much  T 
love  you? 

PAMELA. — No,  indeed  I  won't.  I  wish  you  to  under- 
stand, once  for  all,  that  I  am  not  going  to  marry  a 
mere  upholsterer's  assistant. 

JOSEPH. — Must  I  get  to  be  an  emperor,  or  something 

285 


a. "6  pami-:la  c.iraud 

like  that,  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of  an   artificial -flower 
maker? 

I'AMKi.A. — No;  all  yon  need  is  to  be  loved — and  I  do 
not  love  you  in  any  way. 

josiiPH. — In  any  way?  I  thou;4ht  there  was  but  one 
way  to  love? 

PAMKLA. — That  may  be,  but  there  are  certainly 
several  ways  of  nut  loving  somebody.  Now,  for 
instance,  I  can  be  your  friend  without  loving  you — 

JOSEPH. — Oh ! 

PAMELA. — Or  you  might  be  perfectly  indifferent  to 
me — 

.KJSEPH. — Ah  I 

PAMELA. — And  finally,  I  might  hate  you,  really  and 
seriously  hate  you —  Just  at  present,  you  are  simply 
boring  me,  and  that's  the  worst  of  it  all ! 

JOSEPH. — I  bore  her!  I,  who  am  never  tired  of  obey- 
ing her  slightest  wishes! 

PAMELA. — If  you  did  that,  you  would  not  stay  here 
now. 

JOSEPH. — If  I  go,  will  you  love  me  a  little  bit' 

PAMELA. — I  never  love  you  better  than  when  you  arc 
absent. 

JOSEPH. — Then,  if  I  never  came? 

PAMELA. — You'd  give  me  a  great  pleasure. 

JOSEPH. — Why  should  it  be  that  I,  the  chief  assistant 
of  Monsieur  Morel,  one  of  the  best  upholsterers  in 
Paris,  and  about  to  start  business  for  myself,  should 
have  fallen  so  deeply  in  love  with  Mademoiselle?  I 
have  lost  taste  for  my  work,  I  am  thinking  of  her  day 
and  night,  I  feel  I'm  getting  daft  on  the  subject — 
But  there  are  other  girls  in  Paris;  why  should  you. 
Mademoiselle  Pamela  Giraud,  show  yourself  so  uppish? 


PAMELA    (;iRAUD  287 

PAMELA. — You  are  right,  wliy  should  I?  I  am  noth- 
ing but  the  daughter  of  a  bankrupt  master  tailor  who 
has  had  to  take  refuge  in  a  janitor's  lodge.  I  just 
make  enough  to  live — if  one  can  call  living  to  work  at 
a  confining  task  fourteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four. 
Once  in  a  long  while  I  can  afford  a  little  outing  in  the 
suburbs,  to  pick  lilacs,  at  the  Pres-St.-Gervais  or  at 
some  other  of  the  country  dancing-grounds.  I  know, 
of  course,  how  far  above  me  is  the  chief  assistant  of 
Monsieur  Morel  and  I  could  never  think  of  entering  a 
family  that  would  think  their  son  was  marrying  below 
his  station — the  Binet  family  I 

JOSEPH. — But  what  has  been  the  matter  with  you  for 
the  last  week  or  so,  my  dainty  darling  of  a  little 
Pamela?  It  was  hardly  more  than  ten  days  ago  that  I 
used  to  come  here  almost  every  night  and  help  you 
cut  your  leaves,  make  stems  for  your  roses  and 
hearts  for  your  daisies,  while  we  were  chatting  so  com- 
fortably. Sometimes  we  would  go  to  the  theatre  and 
cry  together,  listening  to  some  heart-rending  melo- 
drama. You  called  me  your  little  Joseph,  your  good, 
kind  Joseph;  in  a  word  I  was  the  sort  of  Joseph  hus- 
bands are  made  out  of!  Suddenly,  without  notice,  it's 
all  changed — 

PAMELA. — Oh,  do  leave  me  now,  please —  You  are 
neither  in  the  street  nor  in  your  own  room ! 

JOSEPH. — All  right,  Mademoiselle,  all  right;  I'm 
going.  I'll  walk  downstairs  and  have  a  little  talk  with 
Mother  Girand.  She  doesn't  sneer  at  me,  she  doesn't; 
she  is  ready  enough  to  accept  Binet  as  a  member  of 
the  family —  She  doesn't  change  her  mind  every  few 
days — 

PAMELA. — Well  then.  Monsieur  Joseph,  while  you  are 


288  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

not  to  enter  the  family  just  at  present  you  might  visit 
my  parents'  lodge  and  talk  matters  over  with  my 
mother.  {Exit  Joseph.)  He  may  interest  the  dear  old 
people  enough  to  keep  them  from  noticing  Monsieur 
Adolphe  Durand,  when  he  slips  past  the  janitor's  office 
as  he  comes  to  see  me.  Ah,  Adolphe !  What  a  lovely 
name!  It  sounds  so  romantic!  And  what  a  hand- 
some fellow  he  is !  For  the  last  fortnight,  it  has  been 
a  regular  siege  on  his  part —  I  knew  I  was  not  so 
very,  very,  homely — but  I  never  thought  I  was  so 
pretty  as  he  says  I  am —  He  must  be  an  artist  or 
some  way-up  clerk —  But  I  don't  care  what  he  is;  I 
like  him  because  he  looks  so  distinguished!  Still,  his 
appearance  may  be  deceptive ;  after  all,  he  may  be 
some  wicked  person —  The  letter  he  just  sent  me  by 
messenger  is  so  strange,  {lieadltvj.)  "Wait  for  me 
to-night  and  try  to  arrange  it  so  that  nobobdy  will  see 
me  enter  the  house.  My  life  is  at  stake —  Ah,  if  you 
knew  the  terrible  fate  that  pursues  me! — Adolphe 
Durand."  It  is  written  with  a  pencil —  He  says  his 
life  is  in  danger —     Oh,  I  am  so  anxious,  so  anxious — 

JOSEPH,  on  the  tlireshohl  of  the  door. — As  I  was  going 
down  the  stairs  I  said  to  myself:  "If  only  Pamela — " 
{Jules^  head  appeal's  and  disappears  ovt side  the  window.) 

i'AMEL.\,  who  lias  seen  it. — Ah! 

JOSEPH. — Why  do  you  say,  "Ah!" 

PAMELA. — I  thought  I  saw — I  thought  I  heard  a  noise 
in  the  loft  above —  Will  you  go  up  and  fmd  out  if 
there  is  anybody  tlicre'     You  are  not  afraid,  are  you? 

JOSEPH. — Afraid?     Not  a  bit. 

PAMELA. — Well,  then,  go  up  and  investigate  every 
nook  and  corner.  Otherwise,  1  won't  sleep  a  wink 
to-night. 


PAMELA    GIRAUU  289 

JOSEPH. — I  am  going — I  am  going.  If  you  wish  it, 
I'll  inspect  the  roof,  besides,  {lie  steps  out  in  the  direc- 
tion of  a  small  staircase  leading  tu  the  roof,  and  which  is 
visible  when  the  door  is  opened.) 

PAMELA. — Thank,  you;  look  carefully,  please.  {Jules 
entering  the  room  thronc/h  the  windoiv.)  Ah,  sir,  what  a 
part  you  force  me  to  play ! 

JULES. — You  are  saving  my  life,  and  you'll  never 
regret  it,  for  you  know  how  passionately  I  love  you ! 
{He  kisses  both  her  hands.) 

PAMELA. — I  know —  You  tell  me  so — but  you  act 
toward  me — 

JULES. — As  toward  one  who  is  saving  my  life — 

PAMELA. — Since  I  received  your  last  letter,  I  feel  all 
upset — I  don't  know  who  you  are  or  what  brings  you 
here — 

JOSEPH,  /Vo>/i  the  windoiv  above. — Mademoiselle,  I  am 
in  the  loft- -I  am  looking  over  the  roof — 

JULES. — He  will  be  back  in  a  minute.  Where  can 
you  hide  me  ? 

PAMELA. — But  you  cannot  stay  in  this  room? 

JULES. — Then  you  want  my  ruin,  Pamela? 

PAMELA. — Here  he  comes —  Go  there!  {She points 
to  the  dark  place  under  the  sloping  roof.) 

JOSEPH,  re-entering  the  room. — Mademoiselle,  you  are 
not  alone ! 

PAMELA. — Of  course  not — since  you  are  back — 

JOSEPH. — I  am  sure  I  heard  a  man's  voice —  You 
know,  sound  goes  up — 

PAMELA. — Yes,  when  it  does  not  come  down.  Better 
look  on  the  stairs. 

JOSEPH. — Still  I  am  sure — 


2r;o  PAMKI-A     C.II^AUD 

PAMKi.A. — Sure  of  nothing^ —  Now,  go,  sir;  I  must 
be  alone. 

JOSEPH. — Alone  with  a  man's  voice,  eh? 

PAMELA. — So,  you  don't  believe  me? 

JOSEPH. — Oh,  but  I  heard  the  voice,  all  right. 

PAMELA. — Fiddlesticks ! 

JOSEPH. — But,  Mademoiselle! 

PAMELA. — If  you  prefer  to  trust  any  buzzing  in  your 
ears  to  what  I  tell  you,  I  am  afraid  you  would  make  a 
poor  kind  of  a  husband —  It's  a  good  thing  I  fountl 
this  out  in  time— 

JOSEPH. — All  this  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  I 
heard — 

PAMELA. — Since  you  are  so  obstinate,  I  guess  I  may 
as  well  agree  with  you —  Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,  you 
heard  the  voice  of  a  man,  of  a  young  man  who  does 
everything  I  tell  him  to:  he  comes  and  he  vanishes  at 
a  word  from  me.  Now  what  are  you  standing  here 
for?  Do  you  think  that,  with  him  here,  your  presence 
is  particularly  welcome?  Rather  go  down  to  father  and 
mother  and  ask  them  whvit  his  name  is —  He  must  have 
told  it,  as  he  passed  the  lodge,  or  his  voice  has,  anyhow ! 

JOSEPH. — Mademoiselle  Pamela,  you  must  forgive  a 
\)GOT  fellow,  half  crazy  from  love  for  you.  It  is  not 
my  heart — it's  my  head  I  lose  when  you  are  in  ques- 
tion! Don't  I  know  well  enough  that  you  are  as  good 
as  you  are  beautiful?  And  that  your  soul  is  even 
more  perfect  than  your  person?  I  would  not  care  if  I 
heard  ten  voices,  a  hundred  voices,  in  your  room — but 
o/tf  voice — 

l»AMELA. — Well' 

JOSEPH. — One  voice,  it  would  be  different'  But  I  am 
going  now.      I  was  saying  all  this  in  fun,  you  know;  1 


PAMKLA    GIKAUh  291 

feel  sure  now  that  you  are  going  to  be  alone.  Good- 
night, Mademoiselle  Pamela,  I  am  off;  I  have  full 
confidence,  full  confidence — 

PAMELA,  aside. — He  suspects  something! 

JOSEPH,  aside. — I  know  there  is  some  one  here — 
I'll  hurry  and  tell  father  and  mother  Giraud  about 
it —  (Aloud.)  By-by,  Mademoiselle  Pamela —  (Exil 
Joseph.) 


SCENE     II 

PAMKr,A.      Jur.ES. 

PAMELA. — You  see,  Monsieur  Adolphe,  to  what  you 
are  exposing  me —  This  poor  fellow  is  a  skilled, 
prosperous  and  warm-hearted  workman.  He  has  an 
uncle  ready  and  able  to  buy  him  a  business  in  his  line. 
He  wants  to  marry  me — and,  in  the  last  few  minutes  I 
have  compromised  my  whole  future — for  one  I  know 
nothing  about,  except  that  your  conduct  in  the  matter 
shows  me  that  you  must  be  some  rich  yoimg  man  to 
whom  the  reputation  of  an  honest,  hard-working  girl 
means  very  little,  if  anything! 

JULES. — Please,  please,  dearest  Pamela,  do  not  speak 
that  way —  I  know  you  well  and  my  respect  for  you 
equals  my  love —  Yes,  I  am  rich,  but  that  makes 
things  all  the  easier  for  our  love —  Henceforth  we 
shall  never  leave  each  other.  A  traveling  carriage 
is  waiting  for  me  at  a  friend's  door,  near  the  St.  Denis 
gate.  We  will  start,  right  now,  and  walk  to  my  post- 
chaise,  which  will  drive  us  at  once  to  the  coast,  from 


a92  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

which  we  shall  cross  over  to  England !  There  is  no 
time  for  me  to  explain  matters  in  this  room ;  we  must 
go  at  once  unless  you  want  something  fatal  to  happen 
to  me! 

I'AMELA. — Something  fatal?     What  can  it  be? 

JULES. — I'll  tell  you  on  our  way  there — 

PAMELA. — Are  you  out  of  your  head,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Adolphe,  to  make  me  such  a  crazy  proposal? 
Why,  you  have  hardly  known  me  a  month,  and  after  a 
chance  meeting  at  a  country  ball,  half  a  dozen  short 
visits  to  this  room,  and  a  number  of  protestations  of 
undying  love,  you  come  to  me,  all  of  a  sudden,  to  pr(V 
pose  an  elopement  to  take  place  within  ten  minutes — 

jui.es. — Not  even  ten  minutes  but  at  once,  at  once — 
It  would  be  the  remorse  of  your  life  if  you  ever 
realized  what  the  slightest  delay  may  bring  about ! 

PAMELA. — Cannot  everything  of  importance  be  told 
in  two  words? 

JULES. — Not  if  the  secret  involves  the  lives  of  many 
people — 

I'AMi.LA. — If  your  life  were  truly  at  stake  I  would  do 
a  great  deal  for  you,  although  I  understand  nothing  of 
the  matter  and  so  little  of  you —  Rut  then,  why 
should  you  take  me  with  you  to  England?  What 
earthly  use  could  I  be  to  you  in  your  flight? 

JULES. — Child,  you  do  not  know  that  two  eloping 
young  lovers  excite  no  suspicions!  And  then  I  feel 
that  I  love  you  so  passionately  that  I  do  not  hesitate 
to  risk  my  parents'  wrath  and  will  marry  you  a.^  soon 
as  we  reach  (Iretna  (Ireen! 

HA.MELA. — Marr)'  me —  So — at  once — I  am  beside 
myself —  This  poor  young  man — in  such  danger — so 
fond  of  me — so  pressing — 


PAMELA    (iIRAUD  293 

JULES. — Some  one  on  the  stairs — I  am  lost —  This 
delay  will  cost  me  my  life — 

PAMELA. — Oh,  what  are  you  saying?  Can  anything 
so  awful  happen  through  my  fault?  Stay  here,  I'll  see 
who  is  coming — 

jui.es. — Before  yo;i  go,  take  these  20,000  francs  in 
notes ;  they  will  be  safer  in  your  hands  than  in  that  of 
the  police.  Well,  I  had  but  half  an  hour  before  me, 
and  that's  gone! 

PAMELA,  wlio  is  standing  near  the  door,  listening. — No 
danger  yet —     It's  my  parents,  that's  all — 

JULES. — You  are  so  bright  and  clever  that  I'll  trust 
you  to  get  me  out  of  this  safely  and  at  once — and, 
mind,  you  are  to  come  with  me —  Have  no  fear;  upon 
my  honor,  nothing  biit  good  can  result  for  you —  (He 
ijues  back  and  kidea  totdtr  the  sloping  roof.) 


SCENE    III 

Pamela,  on  the  threshold  of  her  door.  Giraud  and 
Madame  Giraud.  'Their  daughter  stands  in  the  way 
of  their  entering  farther  than  one  step  into  the  room. 

PAMELA,  aside. — He  is  certainly  in  dire  peril  and  he 
surely  loves  me — two  reasons  why  I  should  save  liim 
at  all  costs — 

MADAME  giraud. — Well,  well,  Pamela,  our  comfort 
in  all  our  troubles,  the  mainstay  of  our  old  age,  our 
only  hope  in  this  world ! 

giraud. — A  girl  so  strictly  brought  up! 

MADAME  giraud. — Shut  Up,  Giraud — you  don't  know 
what  you're  talking  about! 


-'•,.i  PA  mi:  LA    C.IRAUIJ  > 

oiKAUD. — All  rijjht,  Madame  Giraiid. 

MADAMK  GiRAUD. — As  I  wus  just  telling  you,  Pamela, 
you  are  highly  spoken  of  by  all  the  neighbors  as  a  girl 
who  will  prove  such  a  help  to  her  parents  in  their  old 
age— 

c.iRAUD. — And  worthy  of  receiving  the  prize  for 
virtue. 

I'AMKLA. — Then  what's  all  this  scolding  about? 

MADAMK  GiKAUD. — Joseph  just  toUl  US  that  you  are 
hiding  a  man  in  your  room — 

GIRAUD. — He  heard  a  voice — 

MADAMK  GIRAUD. — Shut  lip,  (iiraiul — Pamela,  do  not 
listen  to  your  father! 

1- A.MEL  A. — And  you,  mother,  do  not  listen  to  Joseph! 

GIRAUD. — Just  what  I  was  telling  you  on  the  stairs, 
Madame  fiirand!  Doesn't  Pamela  know  how  much  we 
count  upon  her?  Isn't  she  determined  to  make  a  good 
match,  as  much  for  us  as  for  herself?  She  feels  so 
bad  to  see  us,  the  authors  of  her  beins^,  reduced  to  the 
condition  of  janitors,  and  she  is  much  too  sensible  to 
do  anything  so  foolish  as  that!  Isn't  that  so,  child? 
Von  are  not  going  to  say  nay  to  your  old  father? 

MADA.MK  GIKAUD. — Now,  tell  mc,  darling,  you  are 
sure  there  is  nobody  in  the  room?  Because,  you 
know,  a  decent  working-girl  receiving  company  in  her 
room  after  ten  at  night  would  be  awfully  compro- 
mised— 

I'AMKLA. — But  if  there  were  any  one  here,  wouldn't 
you  have  seen  him  enter  the  house? 

(iiRAUD. — She  is  right. 

MADA.MK  GIKAUD. — Maybe,  but  she  is  not  answering 
my  question;  1  want  to  look  through  the  room  and  the 
<  luset. 


PAMELA    GIRAUI-)  295 

PAMELA. — Stop,  mother!  I  can't  allow  it —  You 
have  no  right  to  doubt  me — I  love  you,  I  love  my 
father,  and  I  swear  on  everything  that's  most  sacred,  1 
have  done  nothing  wrong,  nothing,  nothing!  You  can 
not,  you  will  not,  withdraw  your  confidence  from  a 
daughter  you  have  trusted  so  long  and  so  justly! 

niADAME  GiRAUD. — Then  why  don't  you  explain  to 
us—? 

PAMELA,  aside. — I  cannot—  If  they  saw  this  young 
man,  in  a  moment  everybody  would  know — 

GIRAUD,  insisting. — We  are  your  mother  and  father 
and  we  must  see  if — 

PAMELA. — Then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  shall 
have  to  disobey  you.  I  am  of  age,  I  am  self-support- 
ing.    This  room's  rent  I  pay  out  of  my  earnings — 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Oh,  Pamela,  on  whose  head  were 
all  our  hopes ! 

GIRAUD. — You  are  ruining  your  chances  in  life — and 
I  will  be  a  janitor  the  rest  of  my  days! 

PAMELA. — No,  no,  have  no  fear —  Everything  will 
turn  out  all  right.  I'll  tell  you  now —  Yes,  there  is 
someone  here —  {Putting  Iter  hand  on  her  mother^s 
lips.)  Hush!  Not  a  word.  You  go  back  downstairs 
at  once,  and  tell  Joseph  that  he  was  absolutely  mis- 
taken, that  you  looked  over  the  room  and  found 
nobody.  When  he  is  gone,  come  back,  and  I'll  show 
you  the  young  man,  and  tell  you  his  intentions.  But 
you  must  keep  my  secret ! 

GIRAUD. — Wretched  child —  What  an  insane  pro- 
posal! Who  are  you  taking  your  father  for?  {Xotic- 
ing  the  package  of  Inrnk  notes  on  the  tabic.)  What's  all 
that  money? 

MADAME  GIRAUD,  niaki'jg  a  motion  to  enter  further  into 


2<j6  I'AMKLA    C.II'IAUD 

/lie    room,    her     ddttghtcr     restraining    her.)       Money: 

Pamela,  where  did  you  get  it? 
PAMELA. — I  will  write  you  all  about  it — 
GiRAUD. — Write!     She  is  going  to  elope! 


SCENE    IV 

The  PRECKDiNfJ.     Joseph  Binet. 

JOSEPH  mtiV-T,  enter inr/. — I  knew  he  was  some  scamp 
or  Other — some  robber  chief  or  burglar —  The  house 
is  surrounded,  police,  soldiers,  gendarmes,  the  whole 
outfit— 

lULES,  (■owinfj  out  of  hifi  hiding-jylacc. — I  am  lost! 

PAMELA. — I  did  all  I  could. 

GIRAUD. — And  who  are  you,  sir? 

JOSEPH. — Arc  you  a — ? 

MADAME  (;iRAUD. — Speak  out,  fjuick! 

JULES. — If  it  hadn't  been  for  this  idiot  I'd  be  in 
safety  by  this  time —  Young  man,  you'll  have  to 
reproach  yourself  for  causing  a  man's  death' 

PAMELA. — Monsieur  Adolphe,  you  are  innocent? 

JULES. — I  am. 

pAMEi-A. — Then,  everything  is  not  lost —  Come 
this  way,  we'll  foil  them  yet —  {She  open.t  d  small  win- 
dow in  the  ronf;  it  is  guarded  bt/  police.) 

JULES. — Too  late  to  flee,  but  you  may  save  me  yet — 
Listen:  I  am  your  daughter's  sweetheart  and  I  have 
just  asked  you  for  her  hand.  I  am  of  age,  my  name 
is  Adolphe  Durand  and  my  father  is  a  rich  merchant 
of  Marseilles. 

GIRAUD. — A  lover,  both  honest  and  rich'  Young 
man,  I  lake  you  under  my  protection! 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  297 

SCENE    V 

The  Preceding.     The  Chief  of  the  Secret  Service. 

A    Police    Captain.       Policemen, 

Gendarmes,  Soldiers. 

oiraud. — Gentlemen,  by  what  right  do  you  force  an 
entrance  into  an  inhabited  house  and  rush  into  the 
room  of  a  peaceful  maiden? 

JOSEPH. — Yes,  by  what  right? 

the  police  captain. — Never  mind  about  our  right, 
young  fellow.  A  few  minutes  ago  you  were  willing 
enough  to  show  us  the  hiding  place.  Now,  all  of  a 
sudden,  you  are  against  us. 

PAMELA. — For  whom  are  you  looking?  Whom  do 
you  want? 

THE  POLICE  captain. — Tlicu  you  know  that  we  are 
looking  for  some  one? 

GIRAUD. — Before  we  came  in,  sir,  there  was  but  one 
person  with  my  daughter — her  future  husband,  Mon- 
sieur— 

THE  POLICE  CAPTAIN. — MonsieuT  Rousscau. 

PAMELA. — Monsieur  Adolphe  Durand. 

GIRAUD. — T  don't  know  any  Rousseau.  The  gentle- 
man here  is  Monsieur  Adolphe  Durand. 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — The  SOD  of  a  respcctcd  merchant 
of  ]\Iarseilles. 

JOSEPH,  to  Pamela. — Ah,  you  were  deceiving  me  then 
and  that's  the  meaning  of  your  coldness ;  this  man  is — 

THE  police  CAPTAIN,  to  the  CMef  of  the  secret  Service. 
— Then  he's  not  our  man? 

THE  CHIEF  or  THE  SECRET  SERVICE. — Yes,  yes,  hc  is ; 
you  just  obey  my  orders. 


29^  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

jULKs. — I  assure  you,  sir,  that  it's  u  case  of  mistaken 
identity.     My  name  is  not  Jules  Rousseau — 

iHE  cun.r  OK  THK  SECRET  SERVICE. — Ah,  you  know 
his  given  name,  it  appears;  no  one  here  mentioned  it. 

jui.KS. — I  have  heard  about  him—  Besides  my  pass- 
port is  in  regular  shape — 

THE  POLICE  CAPTAIN. — Producc  it,  pleasc. 

GIRAUD. — rxcntlemen,  I  can  only  assure  you,  once 
more,  that — 

THE    CHIET    Ol'     1  UK    SECRET    SI.RVICE. If    yoU  kcCp  OU 

trying  to  make  us  believe  that  this  gentleman  is  Mon- 
sieur Adolphe  Durand,  the  son  of  a  merchant — 
MADAME  GIRAUD. — Of  Marseilles — 

THE  CHIIF  OF    THE  SECRET  SERVICE. — I'll    luive    yOU    all 

arrested  as  his  accomplices,  and  locked  up  to-night 
inside  the  Conciergerie  Prison.  You'll  be  mixed  up 
then,  in  a  criminal  prosecution  from  which  it  will  be 
mighty  hard  to  escape.  If  you  care  for  your  head — ? 
GIRAUD. — I  do,  I  do  I 

THE  CHIEF  OF  THE  SECRET  SERVICE. — Not  a  Word  morC, 

then! 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Not  a  word  iDorc,  Giraud. 

PA.MELA,  aside. — Oh,  if  I  had  only  obeyed  him  at  once! 

THE  POLICE  CAPTAIN,  io  t WO  poUrcmeu. — Search  him. 
{Then  jndl  ^"^  "  hamlkercliief from  Jules''  poiket  and  pass 
it  orer  to  the  Chief.) 

THE    CHIIF    OF    THE      SECRI.T     SERVICE,     luoftinf/    (it     it. 

Marked  J  and  R,  is  it?  My  dear  sir,  you  are  not  very 
clever — 

JOSEPH. — What  can  he  have  done?  Do  you  belong 
to  his  gang,  Mademoiselle? 

PAMELA. — Never  sj-)eak  to  nie  again'  'S'oii  maybe 
the  cause  of  liis  death! 


PAMELA    (;iRAl'D  299 

THE  CHIKF  OF    THE   SECRET  SKKVICE,    lo    .lulcii. Hcre    is 

Ihe  bill  of  your  dinner,  to-night,  at  a  Palais-Royal  res- 
taurant. While  there,  you  wrote  a  penciled  note  and 
sent  it  here  throug^h  one  of  your  friends.  Monsieur 
Adolphe  Durand,  who  has  loaned  you  his  passport. 
We  are  sure  of  what  we  say:  you  are  Monsieur  Jules 
Rousseau  I 

JOSEPH. — Jules  Rousseau!  The  son  of  that  rich 
]\Ionsieur  Rousseau  for  whose  drawing-room  wc  are 
making  a  superb  set  of  furniture? 

THE  POLICE  CAPTAIN. — That'll  do.      Be  silent. 

THE  CHIEF  OF  THE   SECRET  SERVICE,  {O  JulcS. And  yOU, 

sir,  follow  us. 

JULES. — I  am  ready,  sir.  {To  Giraud  and  his  wife.) 
1  hope  you  will  excuse  the  trouble  I  have  caused  you. 
And  you,  Pamela,  do  not  forget  me.  Should  we  never 
meet  again,  keep  what  I  have  given  you  and  may  you 
be  happy. 

GIRAUD. — Lord  in  heaven! 

PAMELA. — Poor,  poor,  Adolphe! 

THE  POLICE  CAPTAIN,  /o  a  coupic  of  poUccmoi. — You 
stay  with  me ;  we  will  search  the  room  and  question 
all  these  people. 

JOSEPH,  hnrror-fifrirl-en. — And  when  I  think  that  she 
preferred  a  criminal  to  me ! 

{Jules  is  ])Iared  i/i  flie  nislody  of  the  jioHce  and  as  he 
leaves  the  curtain  drops.) 

(Curtain  on  First  Act,) 


SECOND    ACT 

(The  sfaye  rrprestutft  a  drairhiij-roovi  in  the  Rousseau  home. 
As  the  curtain  rises,  A  ntoine  is  seen  looking  over  the  newsjiapers.) 

SCENE  I 

Antoink.     Justine. 

JUSTINE. — Have  you  read  the  papers,  Antoine? 

ANToiNE. — Isn't  it  a  shame  that  the  servants  in  this 
house  can  find  out  nothing  about  Monsieur  Jules' 
affair  except  through  the  papers? 

JUSTINE. — That's  so,  but  Monsieur,  Madame  and 
Madame  du  Brocard,  Madame's  sister,  don't  seem  to 
know  much  more.  For  three  months  now.  Monsieur 
Jules  has  been  kept  in  what  is  called  the  secret  cell. 
Nobody  but  the  Investigating  Judge  and  the  jailers 
come  near  him. 

.\NToiNK. — They  say  the  plot  was  great —  They 
were  going  to  place  the  Other  back  on  the  throne! 

JUSTINE. — Tliink  of  it!  Here  is  an  only  son  with 
nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  to  have  a  good  time  and 
with  the  prospect  of  inheriting  twenty  thousand  a  year 
from  his  widowed  aunt,  besides  coming  into  his  par- 
ents' sixty  thousand  a  year — and  he  must  go  and  risk 
his  head  in  a  conspiracy! 

ANToiNi.. — I  like  liim  for  it;  for  were  they  n(jt  trying 
to  get  the  Emperor  back!  I  don't  care  if  they  cut  my 
head  off,  but  we  are  alone,  you  don't  belong  to  the 
police,  and  we'll  cry;  "Long  live  the  Emperor!" 

3"«> 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  301 

justinp:. — Hush!  Hush!  Old  fool!  The  next 
thiii^,  you'll  g-et  the  whole  house  arrested. 

ANTOiNK. — I  am  not  afraid  and  my  answers  to  tlic 
Investigating  Judge,  when  he  had  me  sent  for,  won't 
help  convict  Monsieur  Jules.  The  poor  young  man 
trusted  some  of  his  co-conspirators  too  far  and  they 
peached  to  save  their  necks. 

JUSTINE. — Madame  du  Brocard  could  not  put  her  big 
savings  to  a  better  use  than  that  of  trying  to  rescue 
her  nephew. 

ANToiNE. — Oh,  money  won't  be  of  much  use  this 
time —  Since  General  Lavalette's  escape  nothing  can 
be  done  any  more  that  way;  they  watch  the  prison 
gates  too  closely;  it  is  worse  than  ever,  I  am  awfully 
afraid  Monsieur  Jules  will  have  to  suffer  the  final 
penalty.  He  will  be  a  noble  martyr;  I  shall  go  to  see 
him —     (A  bell  rings,  exit  Anloinc.) 

JUSTINE,  alone. — He  says  he'll  go  to  see  him  on  the — 
I  don't  understand  how  any  one  can  have  the  courage 
to  witness  such  a  frightful  end  of  some  one  he  knew — 
I — I  shall  try  and  see  the  trial,  though —  The  poor 
child,  I  owe  him  that  proof  of — 


SCENE    II 

DupRE.     Antoine.     Justine. 

ANTOINE,  entering  with  Dupre,  aside. — That's  their 
lawyer.  {Aloud.)  Justine,  tell  Madame  that  Monsieur 
Dupre  is  here.  {Aside.)  He  seems  a  hard  nut  to 
crack!  {Aloud.)  Does  Monsieur  I'avocat  see  any  hopes 
for.  Monsieur  Jules? 


302  ]'AMi:la  r.iRAui) 

ULTRi.. — So,  you  arc  very  fond  oi  your  youi^L;  mas- 
ter, are  you? 

ANToiNE. — It's  only  natural,  sir. 

DUPRK. — What  would  you  do  to  save  him? 

ANTOiNK. — Everything,  sir. 

DUPRK. — That  means  nothing-. 

ANTOINK. — Nothing!  Why  I'd  testify  to  anytliing 
you'd  tell  me  to. 

DUPRK. — Yes,  and  if  it  contradicted  what  }ou  have 
already  said,  you  would  be  tried  for  perjury,  and  do 
you  know  what  you  would  get? 

ANTnlNK. No,   sir. 

DUPRE. — Ten  or  twenty  years  in  the  penitentiary! 

ANTOINK. — Ah,  that  would  be  awful,  sir. 

DUi'KK. — Yes,  I  see,  you  would  like  to  serve  him 
without  compromising  yourself. 

ANTOINK, — Is  there  any  other  way  I  can  be  of  use  to 
him? 

DUPRK. — None  that  I  know  of. 

ANTOINK. — Then  I'll  risk  it. 

duprp:,  ftside. — What?     A  devoted  servant?" 

ANToiNi. — T  am  sure  Monsieur  will  give  mc  a  life 
pension. 

jusTiNK,  c)dcri)ui. — Here  is  Madame. 


SCENE    III 

Thk  Preckdinc;.     M adami.  Rousskau. 

MADAMK  RoussKAU. — Ah,  Mousicur  Dupre,  we  were 
cxi)ecting  you  with  such  impatience!  (7'o  Antoinr.) 
Quick — tell  your  master  that  Monsieur  Dupre  is  here! 
Ah,  sir,  our  hist  hope  lies  in  yon! 


PAMELA    GIRAl'D  3<=>3 

DUPRE. — You  may  feel  assured,  Madame,  that  I  will 
do  everything"  in  my  power — 

iMADAMK  RoussKAU. — Oh,  you  do  not  know  how  grate- 
ful I  am!  For  Jules,  my  darling  child,  is  not  guilty. 
How  could  he  cause  the  government  any  trouble? 
Why,  a  cross  word  from  me,  his  mother,  puts  him  all 
in  a  tremble!  Ah,  sir,  tell  me  that  you  will  return 
him  to  us! 

ROUSSEAU,  entering,  to  Antoine.  —  Yes,  General 
Verby —  Bring  him  here  as  soon  as  he  arrives — 
{To  Dupre.)  And  what  is  the  good  news,  iny  dear 
Monsieur  Dupre? 

DUPRE. — No  news  of  any  kind.  To-morrow  the  fight 
in  court  will  be  started  in  earnest.  To-day,  they  have 
gone  through  the  ])reliminaries,  the  reading  of  the 
indictment,  etc. 

ROUSSKAU. — So  far,  I  tmderstand,  my  poor  Jules  has 
not  weakened? 

DUPRE. — He  has  not;  he  acknowledges  nothing  and 
sticks  to  the  part  of  the  unsophisticated  victim  of  cir- 
cumstances. But,  if  we  cannot  bring  forth  some 
strong  testimony  to  shake  the  powerful  evidence  of  the 
State,  we  are  in  a  sorry  plight. 

ROUSSEAU. — Ah,  sir,  save  my  son,  and  half  my  for- 
tune is  yours ! 

DUPRE. — If  I  had  all  those  half  fortunes  thus  offered 
me,  I  should  be  too  rich. 

ROUSSEAU. — Do  you  doubt  the  extent  of  my  gratitude? 

DUPRE. — I  shall  await  results,  sir. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Havc  pity  on  a  poor  mother! 

DUPRE. — I  assure  you,  Madame,  nothing  excites  my 
curiosity,  my  interest,  more  than  the  manifestation  of 
a  genuine  feeling;    it  is  so  seldom  met  with  in   Paris. 


304  PAMKLA     (IIRAI'D 

On   that   account,    I   cannot  remain   unmoved  by  the 
poignant  grief  of  a  family  threatened  with  the  loss  of 
an  only  son.     You  may  depend  on  my  best  efforts. 
ROusstAU. — Ah,  sir — 


SCENE    IV 

The  Preceding.     Gener.\l  de  Vekby.      Madame 
Du   Brocard. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD,  fihoiciftg  f/if  irinj  fo  denerid  de 
Ycrhy. — Come  in,  my  dear  General. 

DE  vERiiY,  /(;  h'uiisfteati. — Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  just 
learned — 

ROUSSEAU,  inh-0(h(ri7i(/. — General,  Monsieur  Uupre; 
Monsieur  Dupre,  General  de  Verby.  (T/iei/  Imir  In  eac/t 
other.) 

DUi'RE,  (tffide,  v'liUe  Rousseau  is  icdkiny  to  the  General. — 
He  owes  his  promotion  to  Court  intrigues;  his  brother 
is  Gentleman  of  the  Chamber  to  the  Kin^^  I  imagine 
he  is  here  for  a  purpose — 

DE  VERBY. —  I  am  told,  sir,  that  you  have  charge  of 
the  defense  of  Monsieur  Jules  Rousseau  in  this  most 
imfortunate  affair? 

DUi'KE. — Yes,  General;  and  a  most  imfortunate  affair 
it  is,  indeed;  for  the  really  guilty  ones  are  not  in  jail. 
Once  again,  the  courts  will  severely  punish  the  tools 
while  the  wielders  of  them  will  go  scot  free.  Are  you 
the  General,  Vicomte  de  Verby? 

DE  VKRBY. — Plain  General  Verby,  sir.  I  use  no 
title —  My  opinions — I  suppose  you  have  seen  the 
documents  in  the  case? 


PAMELA    (1]RAUD  305 

DUPRE. — Only  in  the  last  three  days  have  we  been 
allowed  to  confer  with  the  prisoners, 

DE  VEKHY. — And  what  do  you  think  will  be  the  out- 
come? 

ALL. — Yes,  tell  us,  what  do  you  think  of  it. 

DUPRE. — My  long  experience  at  the  bar  leads  me  to 
believe,  that,  after  obtaining-  a  pitiless  verdict  of 
guilty,  the  government  will  offer  a  commutation  from 
the  penalty  of  death  to  a  milder  one  in  exchange  for 
revelations. 

DE  VERBY. — Ah,  but  the  prisoners  are  all  men  of 
honor ! 

ROUSSEAU. — Still 

DUPRE. — One's  principles  are  apt  to  suffer  a  change 
when  one  faces  the  scaffold.  It  is  especially  so  when 
a  man  has  much  to  lose  beside  his  life. 

DE  VERBY,  aside. — One  ought  to  plot  only  with  penni- 
less fellows ! 

DUPRE. — For  my  part,  I  shall  advise  my  client  to  tell 
everything  he  knows. 

ROUSSEAU. — Of  course. 

MADAME  Du  BROCARD. — Certainly. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — He'll  havc  to  do  it. 

DE  VERBY,  anxiously. — So,  you  really  believe  that  he 
has  no  other  chance? 

DUPRE. — None  whatever.  The  Attorney-General  has 
full  evidence  that  he  took  part  not  only  in  the  concoc- 
tion of  the  plan  but  in  its  full  execution,  so  far  as  it 
went. 

DE  VERBY. — I  would  sooucr  lose  my  head  than  my 
honor. 

DUPRE. — It  depends  whether  the  head  is  worth  more 
than  the  honor. 


:o6  I'AMKI.A    ClkAUU 

DE  VERiiV. — Your  ideas  are  very — 

ROUSSEAU. — They  are  mine. 

DUPKE. — They  are  those  of  the  great  majority.  I 
have  seen  many  things  done  to  save  a  head —  You 
must  remember  that  there  are  people  who  make  a 
specialty  of  pushing  others  forward  while  remaining 
themselves  in  the  background  ready  to  gather  the 
profits  of  victory  if  things  turn  that  way.  Have  such 
])cople  any  honor?  Are  those  they  have  fooled  bound 
to  show  them  any  mercy? 

DE  VERBY. — No  mcrcy  whatever;  they  are  scoundrels. 

DUPRK,  aside. — He  said  that  with  the  right  ring — 
All  the  same  this  man  brought  poor  Jules  to  ruin,  and 
he'll  bear  watching — 


vSCENE  V 

Thi:   Preceding.      Antoinm.      Lafer  Jules,    Orout/hf   in 
by  pohceinen  in  /ilaiii,  cloihcs. 

antoine. — Madame — Monsieur —  A  carriage  has 
just  stopped  in  front  of  the  house —  Several  men 
stepped  out,  with  Monsieur  Jules  between  them. 
They  are  bringing  him  upstairs. 

MONSIEUR  and  MADAME   ROUSSEAU. — My  SOU  ! 

MADAME  Du  HRocARD. — My  ncphew! 

DUPRE. — I  suppose  they  want  to  look  through  his 
papers  in  his  presence. 

ANioi.NE. — Here  he  is!  (,//</<•>•  njiprurs  jo/lowed  hij 
policemen  and  acrompanied  fji/  an  Inventiijatiny  J iidge  and 
his  clerk.      Vnuny  HuuHseau  runs  lo  hi^  mother.) 

JULES. — Mother!   dear  moth«r'     (//c  {-issti  her.)     At 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  30? 

last  I  see  you  again!  {To  Madame  du  IJrorard,  kissinij 
her  uho.)     My  dear  aunt! 

MADAME  RoussKAU. — My  darling  child!  Sit  here, 
close  to  me.  They  won't  dare  to  take  you  away — 
{T<i  poUceiiieii  loJto  cuiiie  toward  the  pris07ier.)  Leave  him 
alone,  leave  him  to  me! 

ROUSSKAU,  rushing  to  hhn. — Have  pity  on  a  poor 
mother! 

DUPRE,  to  the  Incesti<jatiny  Judije. — Sir  — 

JULES. — Dear  mother,  restrain  yourself —  Soon  I 
shall  be  a  free  man  again — really  I  shall — and  then  we 
will  never  part  any  more ! 

ANTOiNE,  to  Monsieur  Hoicsseaii. — They  want  to  search 
Monsieur  Jules'  room — 

ROUSSEAU,  to  the  Investigating  Judge. — All  right — T 
will  go  with  you  myself,  sir.  {To  Dnpre.)  Do  not 
leave  Jules  a  moment.  {He  leaves  the  room  with  the 
Judge  after  the  latter  has  signed  to  the  police  to  keep  close 
watc?i  over  their  2)ris07ier.) 

JULES,  taking  De  Verhg's  hand. — Ah,  General!  {To 
Dupre.)  And  you  also,  Monsieur  Dupre,  so  kind,  so 
generous,  I  find  you  here  comforting  my  mother.  {To 
Dnpre,  low.)  Conceal  the  truth  from  her.  {Aloud.) 
You  may  tell  her  everything  just  as  it  is,  so  that  she 
may  know  I  run  no  danger — 

DUPRE. — I  will  tell  her  that  she  can  save  you. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. 1 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — And  liow  cau  she  do  it? 

DUPRE. — By  beseeching  him  to  reveal  the  names  of 
those  on  whose  account  he  has  acted. 

DE  VERBY. — Sir! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Oh,  but  you  must  do  it!  You 
must!     I  order  you  to,  I,  your  mother! 


3o8  PAMELA    l.IRAUD 

MADAME  Du  nROCARi). — Ves,  Tiiv  iiephcw  is  bound  to 
speak  out  without  reserve —  He  has  been  left  in  a 
most  horrible  position  by  people  who  led  him  on  and 
then  abandoned  him.  In  his  turn,  he  has  the  riyht 
to— 

DE  VEKiiY,  loir  to  Dujire. — What,  sir!  Vou  would 
advise  your  client  to  betray — 

liUPRE,  like  a  jlaxh. — Whom? 

DE  VERUY,  risibly  di.-ilurhtd. —  But  —  can  no  other 
means  be  found?  Monsieur  knows  the  duty  a  man 
of  honor  owes  to  himself. 

DUPRE,  aside. — He  is  the  man  I     I  was  sure  of  it! 

JULES,  to  Ills  mother  and  aunt. — Never,  thouj^h  I  die 
for  it,  never  will  I  compromise  anyone!  (/nvotii/itan/ 
iiiovenieni  of  relief  on  the  part  of  the  fleneral.) 

.MADAME  ROUSSEAU.  —  Lord  in  heaven  I  {Lookinii 
around  and  seeiiKj  all  e.cit.<<  /juarded.)  And  no  means  of 
escape  I 

MADAME  DU    KROCARD. Not  OUe  I 

ANTOiNK,  entering. — Monsieur  Jules,  they  want  you 
in  the  next  room. 

JULES. — I  am  coming. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — I  go  with  you.  {She  goes  with 
him  to  the  door  ami  parleys  with  the  policeman  who 
guards  it.) 

iMADAME  DU  liROCARD,  to  Duprc  who  is  keeping  his  eyes 
on  the  freneral. — Monsieur  Dupre,  I  thouj:,dit  that,  per- 
haps— 

DUPRE,  interrupting  her. — A  little  later,  Madame,  if 
you  please.  {Ife  e.trorts  her  to  the  door:  e.ieunt  together 
Jule.-<y  his  mother,  his  aunt  and  his  gxiards.) 


PAMELA    (JIRAUD  309 

SCENE    VI 

DuPRK.      Dr:  Vkrby. 

DE  VERHY,  aside. — These  Rousseaiis  have  secured  a 
lawyer  who  is  both  wealthy  and  devoid  of  ambition. 
Besides,  he  has  the  strangest  ideas — 

DUPRK,  looking  <if  fhe  General  as  he  comes  down  the 
stage,  aside. — Now,  I  must  get  at  his  secret.  {AIo7cd.) 
You  show  a  great  interest  in  my  client,  General? 

DE  VERBY, — I  feel  a  great  interest. 

DUPRE. — I  am  still  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  could 
induce  a  young  man  like  our  friend,  with  plenty  of 
money  and  a  natural  love  of  pleasure,  to  throw  him- 
self into  such  a  conspiracy ! 

DE  VERBY. — The  seduction  of  glory,  I  suppose! 

DUPRE,  with  a  smile. — Oh,  don't  say  such  things  to  a 
lawyer  who  has  been  in  active  practice  for  twenty 
years.  Too  many  men  and  cases  have  passed  through 
his  hands  for  him  not  to  have  discovered  that  lofty 
phrases  serve  only  to  disguise  mean,  selfish  purposes. 
I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  never  have  met  a  human 
being  that  was  not  an  egotist  at  heart. 

DE  VERBY. — I  suppose  you  argue  cases  without  being 
paid  for  them. 

DUPRE. — I  often  do;  and  I  never  argue  one  I  do  not 
believe  in. 

DE  VERBY. — You  are  a  rich  man,  of  course. 

DUPRE. — I  inherited  a  competence.  Otherwise,  the 
world  being  what  it  is,  I  should  have  ended  long  ago 
in  the  poorhouse. 

DE  VERBY.— Then  it  is  because  you  believed  in  young 
Rousseau's  innocence  that  you  took  charge  of  his 
defense? 


3IO  PAMKLA    ClRAUl) 

DUPRE. — Yes,  and  also  because  I  think  he  has  been 
duped  by  persons  belonging  to  a  higher  social  circle. 
I  love  to  help  dupes  when  they  have  been  trapped 
through  no  debasing  scheming  on  their  part — in  other 
words,  when  they  are  honest  dupes,  not  foolish  trick- 
sters. 

DE  vERiiY. — You  evidently  belong  to  the  tribe  of 
men-haters? 

DUPKE. — I  do  not  esteem  men  enough  to  hate  them; 
on  the  other  hand,  I  never  met  any  one  I  could  truly 
love — I  am  satisfied  to  study  my  fellow  beings  and  to 
watch  them  acting  their  parts  with  more  or  less  clever- 
ness. It  is  true  that  T  have  no  illusions  left,  but  I 
can  still  laugh  like  any  theater-goer!  I  never  hiss, 
though ;  I  am  not  interested  enough ! 

UK  vKRiiY,  (i.^idc. — How  can  such  a  man  bt-  influenced? 
{Aloud.)  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  never  had  any 
need  of  others,  sir? 

uuPKK. — Never. 

DE  VERBY. — But  you  umst  be  in  pain  sometimes? 

DUPRE. — When  I  am,  I  want  to  be  alone —  Besides, 
in  Paris,  one  can  buy  everything,  even  careful  nurs- 
ing. I  continue  living  because  there  are  duties  to  be 
performed,  for  no  other  reason —  I  have  tested 
philanthropy,  friendship,  love,  and  found  them  all 
wanting;  of  all  make-believers  there  is  none  more  dis- 
gusting than  the  sentimental  one. 

UE  VERBV. — And  what  about  love  of  country,  sir? 

DUPRE.  - —  How  paltry  it  sounds  after  Love  of 
Humanity  I 

UE  VKKUY,  discourayed.- — So  you  see  in  young  Rous- 
seau an  enthusiast? 

DUPKE. — No,  sir,  I  see  in   him  a   riddle  lo  be  solved, 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  J^' 

and,  thanks  to  you,  I'll  imravcl  it  all  right.  (.4  start 
from  the  (rcneral.)  Speaking  frankly,  I  do  not  believe 
that  you  are  entirely  unacquainted,  with  the  whole 
business. 

DE  VERBY. — vSir — 

DUPRE. — You  can  save  this  young  man — 

DE  VF.RBY. — I?     And  how,  if  you  please? 

DUPRE. — By  corroborating  the  testimony  Antoine  is 
willing  to  give. 

DE  VERBY. — I  have  my  reasons  for  not  appearing  at 
the  trial. 

DUPRE. — Oh,  I  see —  You  did  belong  to  the  con- 
spiracy— 

DR  VERBY. — Sir! 

DUPRE. — And  you  induced  the  poor  lad  to  follow 
you — 

DE  VERBY. — Sir,  such  wild  statements — 

DUPRE. — Do  not  try  to  deceive  me.  I  know  better. 
I  only  wonder  what  inducements  you  brought  for- 
ward.    The  young  man  is  rich,  he — 

DE  VERBY. — Sir,  if  you  say  a  word  more  on  the  sub- 
ject— 

DUPRE. — I  don't  care  enough  for  life  to  be  intimi- 
dated by  a  threat ! 

DE  VERBY. — Sir,  you  are  perfectly  convinced  that 
Jules  will  get  out  of  this  safe  and  sound;  but  if  you 
induced  him  to  misbehave  in  the  matter  he  would  lose 
all  his  chances  of  marrying  my  niece  and  of  inheriting 
the  title  of  my  brother,  one  of  his  Majesty's  Gentle- 
men of  the  Bed-Chamber. 

DUPRE. — Ah,  that  was  the  bait?  And  my  young 
friend  is  just  as  much  of  a  schemer  as  the  rest  of  the 
crowd!      You,   General,   had  best  think  over  what  I 


3'^  I'AMELA    (JIKAUD 

have  just  told  yon.  You  have  a  number  of  influential 
friends — and  a  strict  duty  to  perform. 

DE  VERBV. — A  duty?     I  fail  to  see — 

DUPRE. — You  lured  him  into  the  trap,  you  must  get 
him  out  of  it.      (Aside.)     I  have  got  him  nailed  down! 

DE  vERnv. — I'll  think  the  matter  over,  sir. 

DUPRK. — Don't  imagine  that  you  can  escape  me — 

DE  VERBY. — A  general  who  feared  no  peril,  will  cer- 
tainly not  be  frightened  by  a  mere  lawyer! 

DUPRE. — Do  as  you  please  then.  {DeVcrby  waJh-K  out 
in  a  huff  and  collides  with  Joseph  at  the  door.) 


SCENE    VII 

DuPKE.     Joseph  Bini-.t. 

JOSEPH. — It  was  only  yesterday,  sir,  that  I  learned 
that  you  were  to  defend  Monsieur  Jules  Rousseau.  I 
went  to  your  house,  but  you  did  not  return  until  late. 
This  morning,  early,  you  had  already  left.  As  I  hap- 
pen to  be  working  in  this  apartment,  I  had  an  idea  I 
might  see  you  here  some  time  during  the  day. 

DUPRE. — What  do  you  want  of  me? 

JOSEPH. — My  name  is  Joseph  Binet. 

DUPRE. — Well,  what  of  it? 

JOSEPH. — Meaning  no  offense,  sir,  I  have  saved, 
centime  after  centime,  a  sum  of  fourteen  hundred 
francs;  I  am  a  journeyman  upholsterer  and  my  uncle, 
Dumouchel,  a  retired  tavern-keeper,  is  well-off — 

DUPRE. — Hurry  up  and  tell  me  what  you  are  after. 

JOSEPH. — Fourteen  hundred  francs  is  quite  an 
amount,  but  then  they  say  lawyers  come  dear!  I  only 
wish  I  were  a  lawyer;  she'd  marry  me — 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  313 

DUPRE, — What  is  all  that  nonsense  about? 

JOSEPH  — It's  not  nonsense.  I  have  the  money  in 
my  pocket;  here  it  is,  sir.     And  it's  for  you. 

DUPRE. — For  me?     What  do  you  mean? 

JOSEPH. — Oh,  it  is  for  you  if  only  you  save  Mon- 
sieur Jules  from  the  guillotine — if  you  get  him  off  with 
a  term  of  transportation  or  exile.  I  don't  want  him 
to  die,  but  I'd  like  him  to  take  a  long  journey.  He  is 
rich;  he'll  have  a  good  time.  So,  you  just  save  his 
head  and  have  him  disposed  of  for  fifteen  years  or  so, 
and  my  fourteen  hundred  francs  are  yours.  Above 
the  bargain,  I'll  make  you  a  first-class  arm-chair- 
No  w,  is  it  a  go? 

DUPRE. — What  is  your  object  in  making  me  such  an 
offer? 

JOSEPH. — My  object?  I  want  to  marry  Pamela— 
that's  my  object.     Pamela,  my  sweet  little  Pamela  I 

DUPRE. — And  who  is  your  Pamela? 

JOSEPH. — Why!  Pamela  Giraud,  who  makes  flowers. 

DUPRE. — And  what  connection  is  there  between 
Pamela  Giraud  and  Jules  Rousseau? 

JOSEPH. — You  don't  know  that?  Why  I  thought 
lawyers  were  paid  to  know  everything!  I  am  not 
surprised  some  people  believe  advocates  are  good  for 
nothing — I  take  back  my  offer,  I  do.  Now,  listen : 
Pamela  accuses  herself,  or  rather  accuses  me,  of  having 
delivered  Monsieur  Jules'  head  to  the  guillotine  man 
and  she  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  me.  Now, 
if  I  save  him,  I  mean  if  I  save  his  head — for  he  ought 
to  be  sent  out  for,  say  fifteen  years — I  could  marry 
Pamela  and  the  peace  of  my  home  would  be  secure 
What's  fifteen  years?     Nothing;  but,  during  that  time 


314  PAMELA    (ilKAUD 

my  children  will  have  ^rown,  my  wife  will  be  ovcv  lier 
infatuation- —     You  understand? 

DUPRK. — This  one  is  candid,  anyway —  Those  who 
scheme  openly  like  that  are  not  the  worst  kind;  they 
sometimes  have  pretty  j:food  hearts — 

JOSEPH. — What  is  he  talkinj:^  about?  A  lawyer  that 
talks  to  himself,  that's  like  a  candy-maker  eatinp  his 
own  goods —     Sir? 

DUPRK. — So  your  Pamela  is  in  hn'c  with  Monsieur 
Jules' 

JOSEPH. — You  know,  as  long  as  he  is  in  such  a  dan- 
gerous position,  women  will  rave  over  him — 

DUPRE. — Did  they  see  each  other  often? 

JOSEPH. — Too  often —  Just  the  same,  if  I  had  known, 
I'd  have  helped  him  get  away. 

DUPRE. — Is  she  beautiful? 

JOSEPH. — Beautiful,  my  Pamela?  The  idea!  Why, 
she  is  as  beautiful  as  the  Louvre  Apollo  I 

DUPKE. — Keep  your  fourteen  hundred  francs,  my 
good  fellow;  if  you  and  your  Pamela  are  really  kind- 
hearted  you  may  help  me  save  him  from  the  scaffold. 
For  it  has  come  to  the  point  where  he  has  to  l)e 
snatched  away  from  it! 

JOSEPH. — Ah,  sir,  don't  say  that  to  P.imela;  she  is 
low-spirited  enough  already. 

DUPRE. — But  I'll  have  to  sec  her  this  morning 

JOSEPH. — I'll  let  her  know  through  her  father  and 
mother. 

[)UPRE. — '^)h,  she  has  a  father  and  mother,  has  she? 
(Aside.)  That's  going  to  increase  the  expense  con- 
siderably.     (Aloud.)     What  are  they? 

JOSEPH. — Respectable  janitors. 

DUPRE. — All  right. 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  315 

JOSEPH. — The  father  failed  as  a  tailor. 

DUPRE. — I  sec —  Now,  go  and  notify  them  that 
I  am  going  to  call  on  them  in  a  few  hours.  And, 
above  everything,  keep  silent  or  you'll  ruin  Monsieur 
Jules'  last  chance. 

JOSEPH. — I'll  keep  mum. 

DUPRE. — You  and  I  never  met. 

JOSEPH. — Never.  I  am  going —  {He  starts  to  go  but 
steps  to  the  wrong  door.) 

DUPRE. — This  way  out. 

JOSEPH. — Thank  you,  great  lawyer.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  give  you  a  little  piece  of  advice :  make  it  trans- 
portation for  ten  or  fifteen  years;  it  will  teach  him  to 
leave  the  government  alone —     {Exit  Joseph.) 


vSCENE   VIII 

RoirssEAU.     Madame  Rousseau.     Madame  du 
Brocard,  assisted  by  Justine.     Dupre. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — My  poor  child!  How  brave  he 
is! 

DUPRE. — I  hope  to  rescue  him,  Madame;  but  it  will 
not  be  without  great  sacrifices. 

ROUSSEAU. — Half  of  my  fortimc  is  at  your  disposal, 
sir. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — And  half  of  mine. 

DUPRE. — Some  more  half  fortunes!  lam  going  to 
try  and  do  my  duty;  later  your  turn  will  come.  We 
shall  judge  each  other  on  results.  Be  of  better  cheer, 
ladies — I  have  some  new  hopes. 


3i6  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

MAHAMF  ROUSSEAU. — Ah,  sir,  wliat  are  you  saying? 

nupRE. — Yes.  a  few  moments  ago,  your  son  seemed 
lost;  now  I  think  I  sec  a  loophole  of  escape. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — What  has  to  be  clonci' 

.MADAME  Du  liROCARD. — What  do  yoii  aslc  of  us? 

ROUSSEAU. — We  will  obey  you  implicitly. 

nuPRE. — I'll  soon  find  out  if  you  do —  Here  is  the 
whole  story,  and  I  think  I  could  carry  the  jury  with  its 
help.  Your  son  had  a  love  affair  with  a  working  girl, 
an  artificial-flower  maker,  named  Pamela  Giraud,  and 
the  daughter  of  a  janitor. 

MADAME      DU      BROCARD. — I       SCC —  Pcoplc       of       nO 

account — 

DUPRE. — You  may  have  to  be  on  your  knees  pretty 
soon  before  these  people  of  no  account —  It  appear.^ 
that  your  son  was  constantly  in  the  girl's  company  and 
therein  lies  his  only  chance  of  acquittal.  Perhaps,  on 
the  very  evening  the  Attorney-General  says  he  took 
part  in  a  meeting  of  the  conspirators,  he  was  visiting 
her.  If  the  facts  are  really  so;  if  the  girl  states  in 
court  that  he  did  not  leave  her;  if  her  parents  both 
corroborate  this  declaration;  if,  finally,  your  son's 
rival  in  Pamela's  good  graces  confirms  the  testimony, 
we  may  hope  for  the  best.  lietween  an  alibi  as 
strongly  backed  and  a  verdict  of  guilty  the  jurors 
undoubtedly  will  choo.se  the  alibi. 

.MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  (tsidc. — Ah,  sir,  you  give  mc  a 
new  lease  of  life! 

ROUSSEAU. — Our  gratitude  will  never  die! 

DUPRE,  Inokimj  at  the  three  fixedly. — What  sum  of 
money  am  I  authorized  to  offer  them? 

MADAME  DU  I'.RocARD. — They  are  poor,  are   they  Jiot? 

DUPRE. — Yes,  but  their  family  honor  is  at  stake. 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  317 

MADAME  Du  BKOCARD. — Oh,  the  honoT  of  3.  flowcr-girl  I 

DUPRE,  with  a  sneer. — It  can't  be  worth  much! 

ROUSSEAU. — What  do  you  think? 

DUPRF. — I  think  you  are  haggling  about  the  price  to 
pay  for  your  son's  head. 

MADAME  uu  RROCAKD.  —  Mousieur  Duprc,  now, 
really — 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Ycs,  really — 

DUPRE. — Really,  what? 

ROUSSEAU. — I  don't  understand  these  hesitations. 
Monsieur  Dupre,  you  may  go  as  high  as  you  think 
proper. 

DUPRE. — Then  you  give  me  full  powers  to  treat? 
But  what  reparation  shall  I  offer,  if  the  girl  has  to 
sacrifice  her  good  name  to  give  you  back  your  son, 
who,  perhaps,  told  her  he  loved  her? 

MADAi\rE  ROUSSEAU. — If  she  is  a  good,  pure,  girl,  he'll 
marry  her;  that's  what  he  will  do!  I  come  from  the 
working  class,  myself;  I  was  not  born  a  Marchion- 
ess. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Why,  sister,  what  are  you 
saying?  And  the  De  Verby  match,  have  you  forgotten 
all  about  it? 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Slstcr,  wc  must  save  him! 

DUPRK,  aside. — Here  is  a  new  comedy;  it  will  be  the 
last  one  I'll  care  to  witness  to  its  conclusion.  I'll 
start  things  going.  {Aloud.)  It  might  be  a  good  idea 
for  you  to  visit  the  girl  secretly. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Indeed  you  are  right,  sir;  I 
must  go  to  the  girl,  beseech  her —  {SJie  riuffs  the  hell.) 
Antoine!  Justine!  {Antoine  appear.^!  at  the  door.) 
Have  the  carriage  at  the  door  as  quickly  as  possible^— 

ANTOINE. — Yes,  Madame. 


31^  PAMKLA    niRAUI) 

AMPAMi     RnussF.AU. — Dcaf    sister,    you    niusl    cotne 
with  mc —     Ah,  Jules,  my  poor  Jules  I 

MADAME  Du  HROCAKD. — They  bring  him  back  here. 


SCEXK    IX 

Tin-    pRKCF.niNG.      Jules,   escorted  by  the  pa/irr.      Latrr 
Dk    Verry. 

JULES. — Mother,  good-by — {he  kisses  her)  no —  Au 
revoir!  I  shall  see  you  again  soon,  {lianssenu  and 
Afndanic  du  Jlrocard  kiss  Jules.) 

DE  VKRBY,  entcrinrj  the  room  and  walki)ig  to  Dupre. — I 
will  do  what  you  asked  me  to,  sir.  One  of  my  friends, 
Monsieur  Adolphc  Durand,  will  testify  that  Jules  was 
entirely  absorbed  in  an  intrigue  with  a  working  girl 
with  whom  he  was  about  to  elope. 

DUPRE. — That  will  do;  all  depends  now  upon  the 
success  of  our  immediate  efforts. 

THK  INVESTIGATING  JUDGE,  to  Julcs. — Lct  US  IcaVC,  Sir. 

juLKS. — I  am  ready,  sir.  He  of  good  cheer,  mother; 
all  will  turn  out  right!  (//r  jnaves  a  last  gnod-by  in 
I  hi  pre  and  Rousseau.  De  Verity  manages  to  make  him  a 
secret  sign  to  keep  silent.) 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  to  Jiilcs^  <is  he  leavcs  tlie  room. — My 
dearest,  dearest  child,  keep  up  your  courage,  we'll 
save  you  yet!  {Jules  throvs  a  last  kiss  to  his  mother 
and  vanishes.) 

(Curtain  on  the  Second  Act.) 


THIRD  ACT 
{Tfie  stage  represents  Pamela's  room.) 

SCENE   r 

Pamela.      Giraud.     Madame  Gikaud. 

{Pamela  is  standing  by  her  mother  who  is  knittiny; 
Father  Giraud  is  at  work  cutting  a  coat  from  a  coarse 
piece  of  cloth  at  a  table  near  by.) 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — I  don't  Want  to  be  hard  on  you, 
daughter,  but  you  are  at  the  bottom  of  all  that's  hap- 
pening now. 

GIRAUD. — Of  course  she  is.  Why,  if  we  came  to  Paris 
to  live,  it  was  not  only  because  the  tailoring  trade  is 
no  good  in  the  country,  but,  above  all,  because  we  had 
lots  of  ambition  for  the  future  of  our  little  Pamela. 
We  said:  "We'll  take  service  in  some  large  house  and 
by  dint  of  hard  work  we'll  manage  to  have  the  girl 
learn  a  nice,  easy  trade.  And  as  she  will  show  her- 
self as  good  and  industrious  as  she  is  pretty,  she'll 
surely  catch  a  first-class  husband  and  our  old  age  will 
be  passed  in  comfort. 

PAMELA. — Please,  father! 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Thc  wholc  thing  was  just  the  same 
as  done. 

GIRAUD.— It  was—  We  had  the  luck  to  find  a  fairly 
good  janitor's  potntion,  and  ycu  were  making  artificial 

319 


320  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

flowers  that  beat'the  garden-grown  variety.  As  for  a 
husband,  why,  here  was  neighbor  Joseph  Binet — he 
would  have  married  you  any  time. 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Instead  of  that,  the  scandal  of  this 
affair  has  caused  us  to  be  dismissed]  by  our  landlord 
and  the  whole  street  is  full  of  all  kinds  of  ugly  gossip 
about  you  on  account  of  the  arrest  of  that  young  man 
in  your  own  room. 

pA.MKLA. — What  does  all  the  gossip  matter,  since  I 
am  not  guilty  of  any  wrongdoing? 

GIRAUD. — Of  course  we  know  you  are  innocent,  child; 
otherwise,  should  we  be  here,  mother  and  I,  and  as 
fond  of  you  as  if  you  had  not  brought  down  all  these 
troubles  upon  our  heads?  I  tell  you,  Pamela,  when 
an  honest  girl  has  her  parents  on  her  side,  the  rest  of 
the  world  may  bark  until  it  is  hoarse — she  need  not 
blush. 


SCENE    II 

The  Preceding.     Joseph  Binet. 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — I  dcclarc,  if  it  isn't  Joseph   Binet? 

PAMELA. — Monsieur  Binet,  why  are  you  coming  here? 
Had  it  not  been  for  you,  and  your  obstinate  curiosity, 
Monsieur  Jules  would  not  have  been  found  here — 
Please,  go — 

JOSEPH. — I  come  to  speak  to  you  of  him. 

PAMELA. — Is  that  so?   Oh,  then,  speak,  Josejjh,  speak! 

JOSEPH. — You  don't  send  mi-  away,  any  more,  I  see — 
Well,  I  have  seen  Monsieur  Jules'  lawyer,  and  I 
offered  him  all  I  had  to  help  save  the  prisoner. 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  321 

PAMELA. — You  did  that? 

JOSEPH. — I  did —  Wouldn't  you  be  pleased  if  he 
were  only  sentenced  to  transportation? 

PAMELA. — Joseph,  you  are  a  truly  kind-hearted  fel- 
low! And  I  believe  that  you  love  me.  From  now 
on,  we  shall  be  good  friends. 

JOSEPH,  atiide. — I  should  hope  so! 

{Some  one  knocks  at  the  door.) 


SCENE    III 

The  Preceding.     General  de  Verby.     Madame 
Du  Brocard. 

MADAME  GIRAUD,  Opening  the  door. — Company! 
GIRAUD. — A  lady  and  a  gentleman! 
JOSEPH. — Who  can  they  be? 

{Pamela  rises  and  makes  one  step  toiuard  General  de 
Verby  who  bows  to  her.) 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Mademoiselle  Pamela  Giraud? 

PAMELA. — That's  my  name,  Madame? 

DE  VERBY.  —  You  will  kindly  excuse  us,  Made- 
moiselle, if  we  have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling  upon 
you  without  informing  you  of  our  coming. 

PAMELA. — That's  all  right,  Sir.  May  we  know  the 
object  of  your  visit? 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — And  you,  good  people — you 
are  the  father  and  mother  of  this  young  woman,  I 
suppose? 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Yes,  Madame. 


33  2  PAMICLA     C.IRAUD 

JOSEPH,  a.side. — She  called  them  "good  ])eople" — 
She  must  be  a  great  lady — 

I'AMELA. — Will   the  lady   and   gentleman   sit   down? 

{Madame  Giraiid  hrimjs  chairs  for  the  newcomers.) 

JOSEPH,  to  (iirand. — I  say,  they  are  hii^h-toned 
people:   the  gentleman  wears  the  red  ribbon. 

t;ikAUD,  looking. — You  are  right,  he  does. 

M.\D.\.\iE  Du  BRoc.'VkD.  —  I  aui  the  aunt  of  Monsieur 
Jules  Rousseau. 

PAMEL.v. — You  are,  Madame?  And  the  gentleman, 
is  he  his  father? 

.M.\D.A.\iK  Du  I'.ROCARD. — No,  just  a  friend  of  the  fam- 
ily. We  have  a  service  to  ask  of  you.  Mademoiselle. 
([.ookiiiij  (ifikiince  to  Josc/ih.)  Is  this  —  person  —  your 
brother? 

oiRA UD. — No,  Madame,  just  a  neighbor. 

.\iAj>A.MK  uu  likocARD. — Then,  send  him  away. 

josKPH,  aside. — Send  him  away  I  How  she  said 
that!      I'd    like   to    know   l)y    what   right — ? 

{P(iinela  makes  Joseph  a  .sit/n  to  irithdruio.) 

oiRAUD,  to  Joseph. — You  had  best  go,  Joseph;  they 
have  something  confidential  to  tell  us. 

Joseph. — All  right — all  right —     {Exit  Joseph.) 


SCENE    IV 

The  PkECEDiNt;,  niihus  Joseph. 

MAUAMK  UL  HROCAkD. — You  are  acquainted  with  my 
nephew,  Mademoiselle.  I  am  not  here  to  blame  you 
on  that  account;  your  parents  alone  have  tlie  right — 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  323 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — God  be  praiscd,  no  blame  attaches 
to  her  in  the  matter. 

GIRAUD. — It's  on  account  of  your  nephew  that  people 
are  gossiping  about  her,  but  she  is  absolutely  inno- 
cent. 

DE  VKRKY,  i)itcrri(piin(j. — We  believe  it;  but  suppose 
it  were  necessary  that  she  should  appear  guilty. 

I'AMELA. — What  do  you  mean,  sir? 

GIRAUD  and  MADAME  GIRAUD. — Why,  that's  prepos- 
terous! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD,  grusping  the  GeneraVs  idea. — 
Still  if  the  only  way  to  save  a  poor  young  man's  life — 

DE  VERBY. — Is  to  declarc  in  court  that  Monsieur 
Jules  Rousseau  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night 
between  the  24th  and  25th  of  last  August  in  this  room, 
with  you,  Mademoiselle? 

PAMELA. — Ah,  sir! 

DE  VERBY,  io  the  two  Giruuds. — If  both  of  3'ou  had  to 
testify  in  corroboration  of  your  daughter's  statement' 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Ncvcr  sluiU  I  say  such  a  terrible 
thing. 

GIRAUD. — What!  Insult  my  child?  Sir,  I  have  gone 
through  all  kinds  of  troubles;  I  have  come  down  from 
a  tailor's  shop  to  a  janitor's  lodge,  but  never,  never, 
have  I  forgotten  that  I  am  a  father!  Our  daughter! 
Why,  she  is  the  pride  of  our  declining  years,  and  you 
ask  us  to  besmirch  her  good  name? 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Kindly  listcu  to  me,  sir. 

GIRAUD. — No,  Madame,  I  will  not —  My  darling 
daughter,  the  hope  of  my  white  hair — 

PAMELA, — Father,  please,  do  not  excite  yourself — 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Now,  Giraud,  allow  the  lady  and 
gentleman  to  explain. 


324  PAMELA    (HRAUD 

MADAME  Du  HROi  ARD. — It  is  a  family  in  the  greatest 
of  sorrows  that  is  beseeching  you  to  save  him  I 

PAMELA,  aside. — Poor,  poor,  Jules! 

DE  VERBY,  loic  to  PdUicla. — His  fate  is  in  your  hands  I 

MADAME  r.iRAUD. — We  are  not  hard-hearted  people; 
we  understand  the  terrible  anguish  of  a  mother  with  a 
son  in  such  danger — but  what  you  ask  of  us  cannot  be 
done ! 

{Pamela  weeps  behind  her  handkerchief.) 

GiRAUD. — Here,  she  is  crying  again! 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — She  has  hardly  done  anything  else 
for  days! 

GIRAUD. — I  know  my  daughter —  She  is  just  the 
one  to  go  and  tell  the  whole  thing  in  court —even 
against  our  will. 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — I  uui  awfully  afraid  she  would — 
You  see,  she  loves  your  nephew  and  to  save  his  life — 
Well,  I  should  do  the  same  in  her  place — 

MADAME  DU  LiRocARD.  —  Ah,  let  yourselvcs  be 
touched — 

DE  VEREY. — Give  in  to  our  prayers — 

MADAME  DU  itkOCARD,  io  /^(oneki. — If  vou  iTuly  love 
Jules — 

MADA.ME  GIRAUD,  hrin(jin(j  her  hu.'ihand  to  I'amela,  and 
in  a  low  voice. — Now,  listen,  Giraud.  She  loves  this 
young  man  and  he  is  surely  fond  of  her,  too —  If  she 
does  make  such  a  sacrifice  for  his  sake,  marriage  is  the 
price  he  ought  to  pay. 

PAMELA,  quickly. — No,  no,  never!  {Aside.)  His 
family  would  be  furious! 

DE  VKRBY,  to  Madame  da  JJrocard. — They  are  consult- 
ing together. 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  335 

MADAME  Du  BROCARD. — We  will  have  to  make  a 
sacrifice!  Take  them  by  their  love  of  money;  that 
never  fails. 

DE  VER15V. — When  we  came  to  ask  you  for  so  great  a 
sacrifice,  we  knew  that  you  could  count  on  our  grati- 
tude. Jules'  family,  which  might  have  been  indignant 
at  your  association  with  him,  is  now,  on  the  contrary, 
ready  to  contract  obligations  toward  you — 

MADAME  GIRAUD,  to  her  hushaud  and  daughter. — Well, 
what  did  I  tell  you? 

PAMELA,  tuWi  joy  in  her  face. — Jules!  Could  it  be 
possible?  ' 

DE  VERBY. — I  am  authorized  to  make  positive  prom- 
ises to  you. 

PAMELA,  deeply  moved. — Ah! 

DE  VERBY. — How  much  do  you  want  for  the  sacrifice 
you  are  ready  to  make  for  his  sake? 

PAMELA,  dumfounded. — How — much — I  want  —  for 
saving  Jules !  For  what  low  creature  do  you  take  me. 
Sir? 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD,  jjrotestitig. — Alademoisellc ! 

PAMELA, — You  have  made  a  terrible  mistake,  lady. 
When  you  came  to  us,  poor  people,  you  did  not  realize 
what  it  was  you  were  asking  of  us —  You,  Madame, 
ought  to  have  known  better,  for  whatever  her  rank, 
her  education,  the  honor  of  a  woman  is  her  dearest 
treasure.  But  you  thought  that  this  treasure,  which, 
in  your  families  you  surround  with  such  care,  such 
respect,  could  be  readily  bought  here,  in  a  garret! 
And  you  came,  saying  to  each  other:  Money  will  pur- 
chase a  working-girl's  honor! 

GIRAUD. — Ah,  that's  fine!     I  recognize  my  blood. 


3^6  PAMELA    CIRAUD 

MADAME  Du  BROCARD. — My  dear  child,  don't  get 
offended  that  way —     Money  is  money,  after  all! 

DE  VERBY,  to  Givaud. — Of  course  it  is!  And  six 
thousand  francs  a  year  is  a  fair  price  for  a — 

PAMELA. — For  a  lie!  Well,  sir,  you'll  have  it  for 
less,  but,  by  heaven,  1  know  how  to  liave  myself 
respected!  Good-by,  sir!  (<S7/^  makes  <t  deep  huiv  to 
Madame  du  Brocard  and  trithdraws  to  a  small  runnectimj 
mom.) 

DE  VERBV. — What  are  we  to  do? 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — I  am  amazed! 

GiRAUD. — Of  course  six  thousand  a  year  is  cpiite  a 
sum — but  my  daughter  is  like  me,  she  is  proud — 

MADA.ME  GIRAUD. — And  slic  will  ucver  consent! 


SCENE  V 

The   Preceding.      Joseph    Binkt.      Dupke.      Mada.me 
rousseal'. 

JOSEPH. — That  way,  sir;  this  way,  Madame.  {Enter 
Dupre  and  Madame  Jiousscaii .)  Here  are  father  and 
mother  Giraud. 

dupre,  to  the  (leiicral. — I  regret  that  you  should  have 
forestalled  us  here. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — My  sistcr  doubtless  told  you, 
Madame,  the  nature  of  the  sacrifice  we  arc  hoping 
your  daughter  may  consent  to  make  to  save  my  son. 
Only  an  angel  can  do  this! 

JOSEPH. — Wliat  sacrifice? 

.MADAME  GIRAUD. — Nonc  of  your  business! 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  3^7 

DE  VRKBY. — We  just  had  an  interview  with  Made- 
moiselle Pamela — 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — And  she  has  refused! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Lord  in  heaven! 

DUPRE. — She  refused  what? 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Six  thousand  a  year! 

DUPRE. — I  was  sure  you  had  offered  her  money. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — But  it  was  the  ouly  way — 

DUPRE. — To  spoil  everything.  {To  Madame  Giraud.) 
^ladame,  will  you  kindly  tell  your  daughter  that 
Monsieur  Jules  Rosseau's  lawyer  is  here  and  is  most 
anxious  to  see  her. 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Oh,  you  will  obtain  nothing  from 
her — 

GIRAUD. — Nor  from  us,  either. 

JOSEPH, — But  what  are  they  after? 

GIRAUD. — Shut  up! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD,  to  Madauic  Givaud. —  Offer 
her — 

DUPRE,  interrupting.  —  Ah,  please,  Madame  du 
Brocard,  please —  {To  Madame  Giraud.)  Beg  her,  in 
the  name  of  the  mother  of  Jules.     We  must  see  her. 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Oh,  it  will  be  of  no  use,  sir. 
Think  of  it,  to  offer  the  girl  money  in  this  rough  way 
when  the  young  man  had  promised  to  marry  her! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  Carried  away. — Well,  what  of  it? 

MADAME  GIRAUD,  quicMy. — What  did  5"0u  say, 
Madame? 

DUPRE,  pressing  Madame  Giraud's  hand. — You  just 
go  and  fetch  5^our  daughter.  {Madame  Giraud  enters 
the  room  to  the  left. ) 

DE  VERBY  and  MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — You  Converted 
her? 


33«  PAMKLA    GIRAUD 

DUTRE. — I  did  not;  Madame  did. 

DE  VERBY,  to  Madame  du  Brocard. — What  promise  has 
she  made? 

DUPRE,  noticinri  Joseph  who  is  Ustenimj. — Be  silent, 
General.  I  think  it  would  be  best  if  you  kept  the 
ladies  company  in  the  next  room,  while  I  have 
my  talk  with  the  youn^  girl.  Here  she  comes. 
Ladies,  and  you  also,  gentlemen,  I  wish  you  to  leave 
us  alone  together,  Mademoiselle  and  I. 

{Pamela  and  her  mother  enter  the  room,  the  young  girl 
bowing  rcspectfnJhj  to  Madame  Rousseau  who  looks  at 
her  with  emotion.  Then  Dupre  leads  every  one  into  the 
room  jnst  vacated  by  Pamela.     Joseph  remains  behind.) 

JOSEPH,  aside. — What  is  all  this  fuss  about?  They  all 
talk  of  sacrifice —  What  sacrifice?  I  could  get  noth- 
ing out  of  Father  Giraud!  1  can't  have  this  sort  of 
thing  going  on.  If  I  am  to  pay  my  fourteen  hundred 
francs  to  that  lawyer  I  must  know  how  he  is  behaving. 

DUPRE,  coming  to  Joseph. — Joseph  Binet,  you  will 
have  to  leave  us. 

JOSEPH. — But  since  you  are  going  to  talk  about  me? 

DUPRE, — Go,  if  you  please. 

JOSEPH,  aside. — They  are  hiding  something  from  mc. 
{To  Duprr.)  I  have  prepared  the  way;  she'll  accept 
transportation  for  him.     You  may  bank  on  it ! 

DUPRE. — All  right.     Now,  go. 

josY.vH,' aside. — But  I  am  not  going.  (  Whilr  the  others 
are  not  looking,  he  slips  into  a  closet.,  near  the  entrance  door.) 

DUPRE. — Let  mc  first  thank  you  for  consenting  to 
receive  me,  I  know  what  has  happened  and  I  am  not 
going  to  speak  to  you  as  they  did  a  few  minutes  ago. 

PAMELA. — Just  to  look  at  you,  sir,  I  feel  sure  of  that. 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  3^9 

DUPRF,. — First,  tell  mc,  do  yoti  love  this  honest 
young  fellow,  Joseph  Binet? 

PAMELA. — I  know  that  lawyers  arc  almost  like 
father-confessors. 

DUPRE. — Yes,  they  are  sworn  to  the  same  discretion. 
You  may  speak  to  mc  openly. 

PAMKLA. — Well,  sir,  I  did  love  Joseph,  or  rather,  I 
thought  T  did,  and  at  that  time  I  would  gladly  have 
become  his  wife.  I  realized  that  with  his  hard-work- 
ing habits  he  soon  would  be  hi&own  master  and  that  wc 
had  before  us  a  life  of  congenial  work  together.  On 
reaching  a  certain  degree  of  prosperity,  we  would  have 
taken  my  parents  into  our  home,  and  thus  our  life 
might  have  rolled  on,  simply  and  smoothly. 

DUPRE,  aside. — This  young  girl's  manner  strikes  me 
most  favorably  I  wonder  if  the  impression  will  be 
confirmed.  {Aloud.)  You  stop —  What  are  you 
thinking  of,  now? 

PAMELA. — I  was  thinking  of  this  past,  so  happy 
when  compared  to  the  present.  It  did  not  take  me 
two  weeks  to  have  my  head  completely  turned  by 
Monsieur  Jules.  In  fact  I  hardly  had  seen  him,  when 
I  felt  for  him  that  love  I  had  heard  other  girls  speak 
of  so  vehemently — a  love  that  would  lead  you  to  suffer 
anything  for  the  sake  of  the  loved  one.  I  used  to 
say,  listening  to  them:  "Will  it  ever  be  so  with  me?" 
And  now,  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  Mon- 
sieur Jules'  sake.  A  moment  ago,  they  offered  me 
money — those  persons  from  whom  I  expected  such 
noble  feelings,  and  I  could  not  help  crying  out  in  dis- 
gusted indignation!  Money!  I  have  money! 
Twenty  thousand  francs,  in  this  room,  and  they  are 
yours — that   is,    they   are   his.      I    have    kept    them 


iJ*^  PAMELA    r.IRAUD 

untouched  to  use  them  some  time  for  his  rescue! 
For,  do  you  know,  it  was  my  want  of  faith  in  him  that 
caused  his  arrest!  I  refused  to  trust  him,  who  showed 
such  absolute  confidence  in  me! 

nupRE. — He  gave  you  twenty  thousand  francs' 

PAMKLA. — Yes,  sir;  he  confided  that  amount  of 
money  to  me.  It  is  in  that  drawer;  should  he 
die,  I  will  return  it  to  the  family —  But,  tell  me — 
jiromise  me,  he  shall  not  die —     (S/ir  stifles  a  sob.) 

Dui'RK. — My  dear  child,  remember  that  your  life, 
your  happiness,  perhaps,  may  depend  on  the  truth  you 
will  put  into  your  answers.  Answer  me  as  you  would 
God  himself. 

PAMELA. — I  will  do  so,  sir. 

DUPRE. — You  never  loved  any  man? 

PAMELA. — Never. 

DUPRK. — I  think  I  am  frightening-  you —  You  do  not 
g;ive  me  your  full  confidence — 

PAMELA. — Indeed  I  do  sir;  I  swear  it  on  everything 
that's  most  sacred—  It  is  Gospel  truth  that  since  we 
came  to  Paris  to  live,  I  never  have  left  my  mother's 
side,  thinking  of  nothing  outside  of  my  work  and  my 
home  duties.  A  few  minutes  ago,  when  these  people 
spoke  as  they  did,  I  was  bewildered,  then  beside 
myself  with  anger;  now,  with  you,  it  seems  so  difTer- 
ent,  I  feel  like  opening  my  very  heart.  Yes,  it  is  true, 
I  never  loved  a  man  before  I  met  Monsieur  |ules;  now 
I  will  never  love  any  one  else  and  I  would  follow  him 
to  the  end  of  the  world !  You  see,  I  speak  to  you  as  I 
would  to  God ! 

DUPkE. — Then  I  can  appeal  to  your  heart  and 
beseech  you  to  grant  me  that  favor  which  you  have 
refused  to  the  others.     All  I  want  you  to  do.  remem- 


I'AMIOI.A     ClRAll)  331 

ber,  is  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth.  You  arc  the 
only  one  on  earth  whose  testimony,  in  open  court, 
may  yet  save  Jules  Rousseavi  from  a  dread  fate — 
You  love  him,  Pamela,  and  although  I  fully  under- 
stand what  it  will  cost  you  to  confess  publicly  that — 

PAMELA. — To  confess  that  I  love  him?  Would  that 
be  suflEicient  to  save  him? 

DUPRE. — It  will,  I  answer  for  it  I 

PAMELA. — Well,  then — 

DUPRE. — Dear  child — 

PAMELA. — He  is  saved! 

DUPRE,  with  a  peculiar  stress. — But,  you  will  be  com- 
promised— 

PAMELA. — I  do  not  mind  that — for  his  sake! 

DUPRE,  aside. — Then,  I  shall  not  die  without  having 
met  one  noble,  disinterested  human  being!  (Aloud.) 
Pamela,  you  are  a  kind,  generous  girl ! 

PAMELA. — Ah,  to  act  that  way  is  one's  consolation  in 
the  little  troubles  of  life ! 

DUPRE. — And,  besides,  my  dear  child,  you  are  frank, 
quick,  and  bright —  Now,  if  we  are  to  succeed  in 
what  we  have  before  us,  you  must  display  plenty  of 
assurance  and  an  indomitable  will. 

PAMELA. — That  shall  not  fail  me,  sir;  you'll  see. 

DUPRE. — Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  upset —  Have 
the  bravery  to  tell  everything —  For  a  moment,  let  us 
imagine  that  we  are  now  inside  the  court-room.  Here 
are  the  presiding  judge,  the  prosecuting  attorney,  the 
prisoner,  myself,  and  the  twelve  men  of  the  jury — 
Besides,  a  large  audience  filling  the  immense  hall. 
Now,  remember,  you  are  to  remain  perfectly  self-pos- 
sessed— 

PAMELA. — I  will.      I  will —     Don't  you  fear! 


332  PAMELA    CIRAUD 

DurRK,. — A  court-(ifficcr  leads  yon  to  the  witness 
stand.  After  you  have  stated  your  name,  etc.,  the 
presiding  judge  will  ask  you  if  you  know  the  prisoner — 
What  will  you  answer? 

PAMELA. — I  shall  answer  the  truth —  I  met  Monsieur 
Jules  about  a  month  before  his  arrest,  on  the  Island  of 
Amour  in  the  Belleville  Park. 

DUPRE. — In  whose  company  was  he  then? 

PA.MELA. — I  only  saw  him  I 

DUPRK. — You  did  not  hear  him  or  his  companions 
talk  politics? 

I'AMELA,  snrpri.scd. — Monsieur,  I  should  think  the 
court  would  know  that  politics  are  quite  out  of  place 
on  the  Island  of  Amour! 

DUPRE. — A  good  answer.  Next,  you  will  have  to  tell 
the  court  all  you  know  about  Jules  Rousseau — 

PAMELA. — Here  again  the  truth  is  easily  told;  I  can 
only  repeat  what  I  said  to  the  Investigating  Judge: 
That  I  knew  nothing  of  any  conspiracy;  that  I  was 
dumfounded  when  they  came  into  my  room  to  arrest 
him.  In  fact,  I  thought  at  first  that  he  was  arrested 
for  some  robbery  or  the  like,  and  I  ask  Monsieur 
Jules'  pardon  for  the  suspicion. 

DUPRK. — Then,  you  will  have  to  testify  that,  after 
you  made  the  young  man's  acc[uaintance,  he  was  con- 
stantly in  your  room,  you  will  have  to — 

I'AMi.LA. — Hut  all  that  is  the  truth,  sir,  the  plain 
truth —  He  was  all  the  time  calling  on  me;  I  received 
him,  because  I  liked  him.  He  said  he  came  out  of 
love  for  me  and  I — well,  I  resisted  his  advances  as  it 
was  my  duty  to — 

nupRE. — But  later — ? 

PAMELA,  tnuch  (lisfiirbcfl. — Later? 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  ^^:, 

DUPRE. — You  are  trembling — ?  Now,  take  care,  a 
moment  ago,  you  promised  me  the  whole  truth. 

PAMELA. — The  whole  truth!     Oh,  what  a  torture! 

DUPRE. — I  am,  myself,  greatly  interested  in  this 
young  man,  but  I  would  hesitate  before  stating  an 
untruth  for  his,  or  for  any  man's  sake.  If  he  is  really 
guilty,  I  shall  defend  him  from  a  sense  of  professional 
duty;  but  if  he  is  innocent,  his  cause  will  become  like 
my  own.  Yes,  I  know,  Pamela,  the  sacrifice  I  am 
demanding  of  you  is  a  terrible  one,  but  it  must  be 
made —  Now,  answer.  Did  not  Jules'  visits  take 
place  late  at  night  and  without  your  parents'  knowl- 
edge? 

PAMELA. — I  shall  never  be  able  to  say  that!     Never! 

DUPRE. — Ah,  then,  my  last  hope  is  gone! 

PAMELA,  aside. — The  last  hope  gone!  He  or  I  to  be 
ruined!  (Aloud.)  Be  reassured,  sir;  if  I  am  so  much 
distressed,  it  is  only  because  I  am  not  facing  the  real 
danger!  But,  before  his  judges,  when  I  shall  fully 
realize  how  great  is  the  peril  that  threatens  him,  when 
it  will  be  in  my  hands  to  save  him — ah,  then ! 

DUPRE. — I  understand —  I  understand —  All  will 
yet  be  well —  But  the  fact  that  must  be  most  posi- 
tively testified  to  is  that,  on  the  evening  of  the  24th  of 
August  last,  he  did  come  to  visit  you,  here —  With 
that  I  can  save  him;  without  it,  he  is  lost'. 

PAMELA,  decphj  moved. — He,  Jules,  lost!  No,  no! 
Better  that  I  should  be  ruined!  My  God,  will  you 
forgive?  [Aloud.)  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  now —  He 
did  come  that  evening,  the  24th  of  August !  It  was 
my  saint's  day — my  name  is  Louise-Pamela — and  he 
brought  me  flowers,  and  my  parents  knew  nothing 
about  it — and  it   was  late — very  late — when    he    left 


331  PA.MIOLA    C.IRAUD 

me —  Ah.  sir,  have  no  fear,  I  will  tell  everything', 
everything!  (Aside.)  I  shall  lie,  lie — but  it  must  be 
done! 

DurKK. — You  will  save  his  life!  (Af  that  inowntt 
nitcr.<  Mnnsieur  Rousseau  from  the  street.)  Ah,  here 
you  are.  sir!  [Dupre  rushes  to  the  door  of  the  small  room 
and  npoiiiig  it  iride  cries  out.)  Come  back,  all  of  you, 
and  thank  our  heroine! 


SCENE   VI 

Rousseau.      T)e  Vf.rhv.      Madamk  ni;  Bnor  ard. 
GiKAun.      Madame  Gikauo.      L(ttor  Joseph. 

Ai,L. — She  consents? 

ROUSSEAU. — You  save  my  son!  Never  will  I  forget 
it! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Dear  girl,  we  are  entirely  yours 
and  forever! 

ROUSSEAU. — My  fortune  is  at  your  disposal. 

DUPRE. — T  say  nothing,  my  child;  we  shall  see  each 
other  again ! 

JOSEPH,  liurstiiiij  from  the  closet  where  lie  has  been  rou- 
rcaled. — A  moment,  please!  Don't  you  rush  things!  I 
have  heard  everything — for  I  suspected  you,  and  hid 
in  this  closet.  So,  you  are  trying  to  make  Pamela, 
whom  I  have  loved  enough  to  ask  her  to  become  my 
wife — you  are  trying  to  make  her  say  such  abominable 
things!  (To  Dupre.)  And  that's  the  way  you  are 
earning  my  fourteen  hundred  francs!  Ah,  but  I  won't 
allow  it!  I  also  will  go  to  court  and  T  will  testify  that 
I  heard  you  contriving  that  pack  of  lies — 


PAMl'XA    (ilRAUl)  335 

ALL. — Great  lieavensi 

DUPRE. — Why,  you  wretched  young^  man! 

DE  vERHY. — If  yoii  dare  say  a  word  I 

JOSEPH. — Oh,  you  don't  scare  me  I 

DE  VERBY,  to  Maddmc  lioxisseau  and  Madame  du 
Jirncard. — You  may  depend  upon  it  he  shall  not  go; 
if  it  is  necessary  I'll  have  him  waylaid  and  locked  up 
until  after  the  trial  is  over! 

JOSEPH. — I'd  like  to  see  you  tr}-,  sir!  {Just  then  enter 
a  court-clerk.) 

DUPRE,  to  the  neiocomer. — What  do  you  want? 

THE  COURT-CLERK. — I  am  dcputv-clerk  of  the  Court 
of  Assizes — Mademoiselle  Pamela  Giraud?  (Pamela 
c07nes  forward.)  Using  his  discretionary  power,  the 
Presiding  Judge  has  issued  this  summons  command- 
ing you  to  appear  in  court  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock, 
sharp. 

JOSEPH,  to  De  Verhy. — You'll  see  if  I  don't  get  in 
there ! 

THE  couRT-cLEKK.. — The  jaiiitoT  downstairs  told  me 
I  would  also  find  here  a  Monsieur  Joseph  Binet? 

JOSEPH. — Here!  here! 

THE  COURT-CLERK. — Here  is  your  summons  for 
to-morrow  morning,  same  hour. 

JOSEPH,  triumphant. — Didn't  1  tell  you  that  I  would 
get  in  there  all  right ! 

{The  clerk  withdraivs  and  they  all  croiod  around  Joseph 
beseeching  hi  Id  to  abandon  his  tlireatened  interveiition. 
Dwpre  tries  to  talk  to  him  but  Joseph  refuses  to  listen, 
and  pushes  his  way  out  of  the  room.) 

(Curtain  on  Tmikd  Act.) 


FOURTH     ACT 

(The  stage  represents  Madame  dii  Brocard's  drawing-rooni. 
from  which  one  has  a  dear  view  of  the  court-yard  in  front  of  the 
Hall  of  the  Assizes,  in  Paris.) 


SCENE     I 

Madame  DU  Brocard.    Madame  Rousseau.    Rousseau. 

Joseph  Binet.     Dupre.     Justine.     Dnpre  is 

seated  and  looking  over  legal  papers. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — MoHSicUr  DupTC! 

uuPRE. — As  I  was  telling  you,  Madame,  the  court 
adjourned  immediately  at  the  conclusion  of  the  oppos- 
ing arguments.  I  rushed  here  at  once,  to  reassure  you 
as  to  the  outcome. 

MADAME  DU  IJROCARD. — So  near  to  the  Hall  of  the 
Assizes,  we  shall  be  posted  upon  every  happening. 
Ah,  Monsieur  Dupre,  what  gratitude  we  owe  you !  Your 
pleading  was  superb.  {Td  Justine.)  Hurry  up,  and 
bring  Monsieur  I'avocat  something  to  drink — 

.MONSIEUR  ROUSSEAU. — You  spoke  magnificently! 

JOSEPH,  loitli  tears  in  his  eyes. — Ah,  it  was  beautiful, 
beautiful  I 

DUPRE. — It  is  not  me  you  ought  to  thank,  but  that 
courageous  child,  Pamela, 

JOSEPH. — And  what  of  me? 

MADA.MK  ROUSSEAU.  —  Hc'  (Pointing  at  Joseph.)  He 
did  not  execute  his  threats,  after  all? 

336 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  337 

DUPRE. — Indeed  not;  he  has  been  of  the  greatest  use 
to  us. 

JOSEPH. — I  have,  I  know;  but  it  was  all  your  doing, 
Monsieur  Dupre—  When  I  was  called  to  the  stand, 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  upset  everything —  But, 
with  that  crowd  listening  so  breatlessly,  the  tall  Pre- 
siding Judge  in  his  red  robe,  the  jurors  so  solemn-like 
in  their  box— I  felt  myself  all  in  a  tremble.  Still  I  had 
not  weakened  yet —  The  Judge  asked  me  the  first 
question;  I  Avas  opening  my  mouth  to  answer  him, 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  my  eyes  met  those  of  Made- 
moiselle Pamela  and  I  saw  hers  were  filled  with 
tears —  It  simply  paralyzed  me!  Then,  on  the  other 
side,  there  was  Monsieur  Jules  looking  so  brave,  so 
unconcerned — a  fine  head  he  has,  though  so  terribly 
imperilled  just  now—  That  finished  me.  The  Judge, 
noticing  my  emotion,  said:  "Be  not  afraid,  young 
man,  take  your  time!"  I  had  lost  my  bearings,  I 
had —  Still,  I  was  so  afraid  of  getting  myself  com- 
promised  that,  even  then,  I  might  have  told  the  truth, 
nothing  but  the  truth,  if  Monsieur  Dupre,  had  not 
fixed  upon  me  his  piercing  look,  a  look  that  seemed  to 
say  to  me — I  am  not  able  to  say  what — but  it  stopped  my 
tongue,  it  filled  me  with  a  most  extraordinary  emotion 
and  I  began  sobbing  like  a  baby —  Oh,  you  were 
splendid,  sir,  you  were —  When  I  was  able  to  speak  I 
was  just  turned  inside  out,  and  I  began  to  say  things — 
Why,  I  actually  swore  that  late  in  the  evening  of 
August  24th  I  had  surprised  Mademoiselle  Pamela 
and  Monsieur  Jules  in  her  room !  Yes,  Pamela,  whom 
I  love  so  dearly  that,  even  now,  after  this  awful 
scandal,  I  am  ready  to  marry  her  the  moment  she 
consents —      What   they'll   say   in  my  neighborhood, 


33'^  PA.MKLA    (ilRAUl) 

you  may  imagine;  bui,  I  don't  care;  no,  great 
lawyer,  I  don't  care!  {To  .Jitatine.)  I  guess  I'll  have 
something  to  drink,  too! 

ROUSSEAU,    MADA.MI.       ROUSSEAU     aUil    MADAME     DU     URO- 

(  ARD,  snrroundinij  Joseph. — Oh,  you  good  man,  our 
excellent  friend ! 

DUHRi.. — My  main  hope  rests  on  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  Pamela's  straightforwardness  in  her  trying 
testimony.  For  a  brief  space,  I  trembled  for  the  fate 
of  her  evidence;  the  Attorney-General  was  i)ressing 
her  so  hard  and  showed  himself  so  skeptical  as  to  the 
truth  of  her  statements,  that  she  turned  jiale  and 
seemed  about  to  swoon  — 

josKiMi. — Just  the  way  I  felt  myself! 

DUi'RK. — Ah,  but  she  was  devoted  to  the  end!  You 
have  no  idea  yet  of  the  extent  of  that  devotion!  I 
imderstand  it  all  now — she  deceived  me — she  accused 
herself  falsely,  she  is  a  ])ure  and  innocent  girl!  It  all 
came  to  me  like  a  flash!  Just  as  she  seemed  to 
weaken,  her  eyes  gazed  for  a  second  upon  Jules',  and, 
suddenly,  the  rush  of  blood  that  replaced  the  jxdlor 
on  her  face  told  me  that  she  would  save  him  at  any 
cost!  She  braved  the  threat  of  arrest  for  perjury,  and 
once  more,  in  the  presence  of  the  breathless  audience, 
she  repeated  her  confession,  every  word  of  it,  and 
then  fell  back  into  her  mother's  arms,  sobbing  bit- 
terly. 

JOSEPH. — Ah,  what  a  good  heart  she  has! 

DUPRE. — I  must  leave  you  now.  In  a  few  minutes, 
the  sitting  will  be  resumed  for  the  summing-up  of  the 
Presiding  Judge. 

ROUSSEAU. — Let  us  go. 

i>UHRt. — Just  a  moment.      Ladies,  in  our  absence  do 


PAMELA    (IIRAUI)  339 

not  forget  Pamela,  tlie  young  girl  who  has  sacrificed 
her  precious  good  name  for  you,  for  him! 

JOSEPH. — You    understand,    I    am   not    asking  any- 
thing, but  promises  have  been  made  me  and— 

IMADAME  DU   BROCARD  aUll  MADAME  ROUSSEAU. Oh,  We 

will  never  feel  that  we  have  done  enough  for  you ! 

DUPRE. — That's  all  right.     Now,  let  us  start,  gentle- 
men, it  is  time. 

{Exeunt  Dupre  und  Rousseau.) 


SCENE    II 

The  Preceding,  miniis  Dupre  and  Rousseau. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD,  restrainijiff  Joseph  from  leaving 
the  room. — Listen. 

JOSEPH. — What  is  it? 

MADAME  DU  liROCARD. — You  SCO  the  anxicty  we  are 
in;  try  and  get  us  word  of  the  least  incident. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Ycs,  keep  us  posted  about 
everything-  in  the  court-room. 

JOSEPH. — Sure,  I  will  do  all  I  can;  and  I  won't  have 
to  leave  the  room,  either.  I  have  a  seat  near  the  win- 
dow, and  I  can  see  your  house  from  it.  Now,  yoia  just 
watch  that  window,  the  second  one  on  the  second 
floor —  If  he  is  acquitted  I  will  wave  my  handker- 
chief!    Do  you  understand? 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Ycs,  wc  do —  But  dou't  for- 
get— 

JOSEPH. — Of    course    I    won't —      I    know    what    a 


340  PAMKLA    LlIKAl'I) 

mother's  feelings  must  be  in  such  an  awful  situation — 
For  your  sake,  for  the  sake  of  Pamela,  I  have  said 
things —  Well,  one  does  not  command  one's  likings, 
and,  besides,  you  have  promised  me  something — 
You  may  count  on  me —     {Exit  Joseph  on  a  run.) 


SCENE    III 

The  Preceding,  minus  Joseph. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Justinc,  Open  this  window  and 
keep  close  watch  until  you  see  the  signal  this  honest 
young  fellow  has  promised  to  wave  us  from  the  court- 
room—  Ah,  but  suppose  they  bring  out  a  verdict  of 
guilty  I     It  makes  my  heart  stop! 

MADAME     DU     HROCARD. MoUSiCUr     DupiV     told    US    tO 

hope. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU, — And  this  brave,  this  excellent 
girl,  Pamela — what  can  we  do  for  her? 

MADAME  DU  I'.ROCAKD. — All,  wc  must  make  her 
happy  for  life!  Her  help  came  straight  from  heaven! 
Only  a  warm  heart  can  inspire  such  devotion!  Yes, 
indeed,  we  must  i,'^ive  her  a  fortune,  say  thirty  thou- 
sand francs,  for  instance!  We  shall  owe  to  her 
Jules'  life!  (Aside.)  If  only  the  jjoor  boy  is 
ac([uitted!      (.s7/e  hiuks  lowanl  the  window.) 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Well,  Justinc? 

JUSTINE. — Nothing,  yet  Madame. 

MADAME  ROL'SSKAU. — Nothing  yet —  Ah,  sister,  how 
right  you  are,  and   what  a  noble  heart  this  young  girl 


PAMELA    (ilRAUl)  341 

must  possess  to  have  acted  as  she  did.  I  do  not  know 
what  you  and  my  husband  may  think  of  it  but  the 
happiness  and  the  honor  of  Jules  are  first  in  my  mind, 
and  in  case  Pamela  does  truly  love  him,  if  he,  him- 
self, is  fond  of  her —  T  think  I  heard  some  noise  out- 
side— 

MADAME  Du  BRocARi)  (tutl  jusjiNK. — Nothing-,  noth- 
ing! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Ah,  tell  me,  sister,  has  she  not 
deserved  that  happiness?     Somebody  comincj — 

{The  two  sisters  remain  motionless,  pressing  each  other''s 
hands  in  suppressed  excilemeut.) 


SCENE    IV 

The  Preceding.      De  Verbv. 

JUSTINE,  au)iouncin<j.  —  Monsieur  le  General  de 
Verby. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU    ttud  MADAME  DU  BROCARD. All  I 

DE  VERBY. — Everything  is  going  first  rate,  and  my 
presence  in  the  court-room  not  being  necessary  any 
longer,  I  thought  I  would  join  you,  ladies.  There  are 
great  chances  in  favor  of  Jules ;  in  the  summing-up, 
the  Presiding  Judge  positively  aided  his  case. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  overjoi/ed. — Ah,  God  be  blessed! 

DE  vERBY.  —  Jules  behaved  splendidly —  My 
brother.  Count  de  Verby,  is  most  kindly  disposed 
toward  him.  My  niece  thinks  him  a  hero  and  I — 
well — I  know  courage  and  honor  when  I  see  them! 
When  the  excitement  created  by  this  affair  has  quieted 
down,  we  will  hurry  the  marriage — 


].[;  PAMELA    (IIRAI'D 

MADAMK  ROUSSEAU. — You  ought  to  know,  General, 
that  we  have  made  this  young  girl  certain  promises — 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — You  need  not  speak  of  that 
just  now,  sister — 

DE  VERBY. — Oh,  I  understand,  she  certainly  deserves 
a  reward,  a  large  one  even — say,  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  francs. 

MADA.ME  DU  BROCARD. — You  hciir,  sistcr.  The  Gen- 
eral is  a  high-minded  and  generous  man,  and  since  he 
believes  that  such  an  amount  would  prove  sufficient,  I 
don't  see  wh)' — 

JUSTINE. — Here  comes  Monsieur  Rousseau! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — My  brother! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — My  husband  I 


SCENK    V 

TiiK  Preceding.      Rousseau 

DE  VERBY. — You  bring  good  news? 

.MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Hc  is  acquittcd? 

ROUSSEAU. — Not  yet —  But  there  is  a  rumor  around 
that  he  is  to  be.  The  jury  is  still  locked  up.  I  had 
not  the  courage  to  wait  any  longer — I  told  Antoine  tu 
rush  here  as  soon  as  a  verdict  was  rendered. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — We  shall  be  told  the  result  from 
the  window;  that  young  fellow,  Joseph,  has  promised 
to  signal  us  from  the  Court- House — 

ROUSSEAU.  — Then  watch  closely,  Justine — 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — And  how  docs  poor  Jules  feel? 
How  anxious  he  must  be! 

ROUSSEAU. — He'      Why,    he   is  as    cool    and    uncon- 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  343 

cerned  as  if  the  verdict  meant  nothing  to  him!  Ah, 
if  he  had  employed  this  courage  of  his  for  something 
more  worthy  than  a  petty  plot  I  lie  has  placed  us  in 
such  a  terrible  position !  I  might  be  President  of  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce,  some  day,  were  it  not  for  this 
unfortunate  affair! 

DE  VERRV. — You  forgct  that  an  alliance  with  my 
family  may  prove  some  compensation. 

ROUSSEAU,  as  if  remembering  sometliimj  suddenly. — By 
the  way,  General,  when  I  was  leaving  Jules,  he  was 
surrounded  by  his  friends,  among  them  Monsieur 
Dupre  and  this  young  girl,  Pamela.  I  am  afraid  your 
niece  and  the  Countess,  her  mother,  must  have  noticed 
the  scene.  I  hope  you  will  do  your  best  to  erase  from 
their  minds  the  impression — 

DE  VERBV. — You  need  not  worry  on  that  score,  sir; 
I'll  manage  to  have  Jules  appear  as  white  as  snow! 
It  is  important,  of  course,  to  have  that  working-girl 
affair  explained  plausibly,  as  otherwise,  my  sister-in- 
law  might  oppose  our  plans.  We  will  manage  to  have 
all  idea  of  serious  love  eliminated  and  a  sufficient 
amount  paid  the  girl  in  full  settlement. 

ROUSSEAU. — Yes,  indeed,  I  intend  to  do  the  right 
thing  by  the  girl.  I'll  give  her,  say,  about  eight  or 
ten  thousand  francs.     That  will  be  enough,  won't  it? 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  uutH  then  contvoUed  by  her  sis- 
icr. — And  her  honor,  sir,  her  honor?  Who  is  to  pay 
for  that? 

ROUSSEAU, — Oh,  well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  we  will  find 
a  husband  for  her,  all  right ! 


344  .       PAMELA    GIRAUI) 


SCENE     VI 


The  PRF.CF.DiNr,.     JosrPH.  riishivfi  in  the  mom. 

JOSEPH. — Please,  quick,  quick — salts — water — some- 
tliingl 

ALL.— What—     What's  the  matter? 

JOSEPH. — Monsieur  Antoine,  your  valet,  is  bringing 
Mademoiselle  Pamela  here. 

ROUSSEAU. — Has  anything  happened  to  her? 

JOSEPH. — Just  as  the  jury  filed  in,  she  fainted  away — 
Father  and  Mother  Giraud,  who  were  seated  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall,  could  not  attend  to  her —  I 
shouted  for  help  and  the  Presiding  Judge  had  me 
expelled. 

MADAME  Roussi-.AU. — Rut  what  about  Jules,  my  son? 
What  is  the  verdict? 

JOSEPH. — I  don't  know  anything  about  it —  I  only 
saw  Pamela  fainting!  Because,  you  know,  yotir  son  is 
all  right,  and  Pamela  comes  first  with  me — 

DE  VERBV. — Still,  you  must  have  noticed  on  the  faces 
of  the  jurors — 

JOSEPH. — Ah,  sir,  the  foreman  of  the  jury-  looked 
that  solemn  and  sad  that  I  am  afraid —  {They  all  start 
hnrk  in  terrible  anxiety.) 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  /la/f  .sobbinc/. — Ah,  my  poor,  poor, 
Jules! 

JOSEPH. — Here  comes  Monsieur  Antoine  and  Made- 
moiselle Pamela. 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  345 


SCENE    VII 

The  Preceding.      Antoine.      Pamela.      Tliey  bring  a 

chair  for  the  half -fainting  girl  and  care  for 

her  in  the  usual  way. 

MADAME  Du  BKOCARD. — My  dear  child! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — My  daughter! 

ROUSSEAU,  — Mademoiselle ! 

PAMELA. — In  spite  of  all  my  efforts,  I  could  not  stand 
this  prolonged  uncertainty —  Hope  had  first  forsaken 
me,  and  then  it  returned  again,  as  I  gazed  upon  the 
face  of  Monsieur  Jules.  While  the  jury  was  out  his 
calm  smile  made  me  share  the  happy  presentiment  he 
seemed  to  have.  And  then  again  the  impassive, 
almost  gloomy  look  of  Monsieur  Dupre  chilled  me  to 
the  core —  Suddenly  the  bell  rang,,  announcing  the 
return  of  the  jury,  a  thrill  of  anxiety  seemed  to  sweep 
over  the  whole  audience  and  it  went  through  me  like  a 
dagger;  all  my  strength  forsook  me,  my  face  was 
bathed  in  a  cold  sweat — I  fainted  away ! 

JOSEPH. — I  screamed  and  they  threw  me  out— 

DE  VERBY,  to  MonsieuT  Rousseau. — Supposing  the 
worst  happened — could  we  depend  on  her  in  case  of  a 
new  trial? 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — Wc  cau  depend  upon  her  for- 
ever— I  know  it ! 

MADAME  DU  BRocARD. — Pamela! 

ROUSSEAU. — Mademoiselle,  you  who  have  shown 
yourself  so  brave,  so  generous,  if  we  should  have  to 
make  another  appeal  upon  your  devotion,  would  you 
repeat — ? 


340  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

PAMELA. — I  would  repeat  everything,  sir.  My  only 
thought  is  to  save  him ! 

JOSEPH. — How  she  loves  him! 

ROUSSEAU. — Ah,  everything  I  have  is  yours! 

{Cries  outsiflc.) 

ALL. — Oh,  that  noise!  {Pamela  rises,  frembling: 
Joseph  rushes  to  Justine  by  the  window.)  What  do  these 
shouts  mean? 

jDSEPH. — There  is  a  crowd  rushing  down  the  stairs 
of  the  Court-House —  It  seems  to  be  coming  this 
way — 

JOSEPH  a7i(l  JUSTINE,  tof/ci/icr. — Monsieur  Jules,  Mon- 
sieur Jules! 

ROUSSEAU  and  madame  rousskau. — My  son! 

MADAME  DU  BKOCARD  and  PAMELA,  rushinrj  lo  Ihr 
door. — Jules! 

DE  VERBY. — Saved! 


SCENE    VITI 

» 
The    Preceding.       Jules.        A    Number   ok    Friends, 

.fides,  escorted  in  hij  a.  nnmber  of  friends,  rushes  to 
his  mother'' s  arms.  At  first  he  does  not  notice  Pamela 
ivho  is  in  a  corner  of  the  stage  next  to  Joseph. 

JULES. — Ah,  mother,  auntie,  my  good  father,  I  am  a 
free  man  again!  {To  Dc  Verby  and  the  ones  who 
escorted  him.)  General,  and  you,  my  many  friends,  a 
thousand  thanks  for  your  expressions  of  kind  sym- 
pathy ! 

{After    .'shaking   hands    all  arou))d,    the  friends 
Irarr  the  rnom . ) 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  347 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — At  last,  at  last,  my  son  is  mine 
again !  But  I  shall  not  recover  from  my  anguish  and 
my  joy  for  a  long  time ! 

JOSEPH,  to  Pamela. — He' has  not  said  a  word  to  you  I 
lie  does  not  even  seem  to  notice  that  you  are  here! 

PAMELA,  li'Hhdrawing  farther  hack. — Hush,  Joseph, 
hush! 

DE  VERBY,  to  JuUs. — Not  Only  are  you  saved  but  you 
have  been  raised  immeasurably  in  the  esteem  of  all 
those  interested  in  this  affair !  You  showed  a  stead- 
fastness and  a  discretion  that  will  receive  their  reward 
in  due  time. 

ROUSSEAU. — Everybody  behaved  well !  You,  Antoine 
— you  will  be  in  my  service  for  the  rest  of  your  life — 

JULES. — Yes,  they  all  did  their  best,  father,  but  my 
real  savior,  my  rescuing  angel  is  Pamela,  poor,  dear, 
Pamela!  How  she  grasped  at  once  the  true  situation 
and  the  only  way  out  of  it!  And  what  incredible 
devotion!  But,  I  remember  now — did  she  not  faint 
away  just  as  the  jury  was  filing  in?  I  must  find  out 
at  once —  {He  rushes  toicard  the  door.  Madame  Rous- 
seau whose  only  thought  at  first  teas  for  her  so7i,  walks 
straight  to  Pamela,  in  her  corner^  and  leads  her  by  the  hand 
to  Jules.)  Ah,  Pamela,  Pamela!  my  gratitude  shall 
never  die ! 

PAMELA. — Ah,  Monsieur  Jules,  I  am  so  happy,  so 
happy ! 

JULES. — And  now,  we  are  never  to  leave  each  other 
again —  Isn't  it  so,  mother?  She  will  be  your 
daughter! 

DE  VERBY,  quickly  to  Rousseau. — Interfere,  sir, 
interfere,  right  away!  Remember,  my  sister-in-law 
and  her  daughter  expect  a  message  from  you  at  once — 


.34''^  PAMELA    CIRAUD 

Do  not  allow  a  hot-headed  youth  to  spoil  his  whole  life 
out  of  ridiculous  scruples  and  through  exaggerated 
generosity — 

Koussr.AU,  embnrrnsficd. — Still — 

nE  VERBY. — I  hold  your  pledged  word,  sir. 

MADAME  Du  LROCARD. — Speak  out.  my  dear  brother- 
in-law. 

JULES. — O  mother  I  Answer  me  and  say  that  we  arc 
of  one  mind,  on  the  subject! 

ROUssKAU,  takiufi  his  so7i''s  hand. — My  dear  Jules, 
never  shall  I  forget  the  immense  service  rendered  us 
by  this  young  girl.  I  understand  how  deeply  grateful 
you  must  feel  toward  her.  But  that  must  not  make 
you  forget  that  Count  de  Verby  holds  our  pledged 
word,  and  that  it  would  be  most  foolish  to  thus  sacri- 
fice your  whole  future.  You  have  plenty  of  skill — you 
have  just  given  signal  proof  of  it;  a  young  conspirator 
like  you  ought  to  have  no  trouble  getting  satisfactorily 
out  of  the  position  you  are  in. 

i)E  VERRV,  on  fhc  of  her  side  of  Jules. — And,  as  a  future 
diplomat,  you  have  here  a  fine  chance  to  distinguish 
yourself  I 

ROUSSEAU, — Besides,  my  decision  is  absolute. 

JULES. — Oh,  father,  father! 

DUPRi".,  entering  Ihe  room. — Jules,  I  see  that  I  shall 
have  to  come  once  more  to  your  rescue !  , 

PAMELA  ««<f  JOSEPH. — Monsieur  Dupre' 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — The  lawycr ! 

DUPRE. — I  see — I  am  not  "that  dear  Monsieur 
Dupre,"  any  more! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Of  coursc  you  are —  Only, 
before  attempting  to  settle  our  debt  of  gratitude  to 
you,  we  must  think  of  this  young  girl,  and — 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  349 

DUPRE,  interrupting  her  coldly. — Please  excuse  mc, 
Madame,  but — 

DE  VERRY, — This  man  is  going  to  spoil  everything! 

DUPRE. — I  heard  enough,  Madame,  to  know  that  my 
experience  has  been  once  more  at  fault —  I  never 
believed  that  ingratitude  could  follow  so  closely  the 
benefit  received.  {Addrcssinfj  Monaicur  Rousseau.) 
Wealthy  as  you  are,  wealthy  as  your  son  is  sure  to  be 
some  day,  I  imagined  that  you  might  have  obeyed, 
this  time,  the  voice  of  your  conscience!  Don't  you 
realize,  sir,  that  to  save  your  Jules  she  dishonored 
herself?  Before  such  a  sacrifice,  your  ambition  ought 
to  lower  itself!  Shall  it  be  said  that  this  fortune 
which  you  acquired  by  such  honorable  means  has 
chilled  within  you  every  generous  feeling?  (Noficinfj 
that  Madame  du  Brocard  is  making  signs  to  her  brother- 
in-laio.)  Ah,  I  see  you  are  the  leading  spirit  in  this 
household,  Madame,  and  even  should  I  convince  Mon- 
sieur Rousseau,  for  the  time  being,  you  would  be  sure 
to  destroy  my  work  within  a  few  hours — 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD,  stiffltj. — Mousicur  Duprc,  our 
word  is  given  to  the  Count  and  the  Countess  de  Verby ! 
I  feel  sure  that  Mademoiselle,  who,  her  whole  life 
long,  may  count  upon  me,  did  not  save  my  nephew  to 
have  him  sacrifice  his  future  for  her  sake. 

ROUSSEAU. — There  must  be  some  proportions  between 
fortunes.  Now,  my  son  will  have,  some  day,  eighty 
thousand  francs  a  year ! 

JOSEPH,  aside. — That  suits  me —  I'll  marry  her!  But 
that  man  is  no  father,  he  is  a  money-bag ! 

DE  VERBY. — It  is  my  opinion,  sir,  that  we  shall  never 
be  able  to  manifest  enough  admiration  for  your  talent 
or  esteem  for  your  character.     I  feel  certain  that  in 


350  PAMELA    niRAUD 

the  bosom  of  this  family  the  remembrance  of  the  serv- 
ices you  rendered  it  will  be  kept  religiously.  But,  if 
I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  some  private  matters 
ought  not  to  be  discussed  before  strangers.  As  far 
as  I  am  personally  concerned,  I  have  Monsieur  Rous- 
seau's word  and  I  refuse  to  release  him.  (To  .In lea.) 
Come  with  me,  my  young  friend ;  come  to  my  brother's 
house;  my  niece  is  waiting  for  you.  To-morrow,  as 
you  know,  is  the  day  when  the  settlements  are  to  be 
decided  upon — 

(Pnmehi  falls  into  a  rfniir  in  a  half  swoon.) 

JOSEPH,  rnshinri  to  her  side. — Mademoiselle  Pamela, 
what  is  the  matter? 

DUPRE  a)id  JULKS,  also  nninijifj  to  her. — Heavens! 

DE  vERiiv,  takinfi  Jules  by  the  hand. — Come — come. 

DUPRE.  —  Stop!  When  I  came  here,  a  moment  ago, 
I  trusted  I  should  not  be  the  only  one  to  come  to  this 
child's  help!  I  see  it's  otherwise —  Well  then,  noth- 
ing is  finished  yet!  Pamela  shall  be  arrested  for 
perjury!  And  (r/raspinfj  the  GeneraVs  arm)  you  arc 
all  ruined! —  {He  leave.t  the  room  ahnipthj,  esrortinff 
Pamela.) 

JOSEPH,  hiding  behind  the  sofa. — Don't  say  T  am 
here ! ! 

(Curtain  on  P'ourth  Act.) 


FIFTH    ACT 

{T7ie  stage  represents  the  pr irate  study  in  Dupre's  liouse.  A 
bookcase  and  a  desk  stand  on  each  side  of  the  stage.  A  window 
at  the  left  is  hung  tvith  heavy  silk  curtains  which  reach  to  the 
floor. ) 


SCENE     I 

DuPRE,     Pamela,     Giraud.     Madame  Giraud. 

{As  the  curtain  rises,  Pamela  is  seen  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair^ busy  reading;  Madame  Giraud  is  standing  hy  her 
side,  while  Giraud  is  examining  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 
Dupre  is  pacing  the  room  with  long  steps;  sudde7ily  he 
stops  atid  addresses  Giraud.) 

DUPRE. — When  you  came  to  this  house,  I  hope  you 
took  the  usual  precautions? 

GIRAUD. — You  need  not  worry  about  that,  sir. 
When  I  come  to  see  you  I  walk  with  my  head  turned 
the  wrong  way!  I  know  too  well  what  the  conse- 
quences of  the  least  imprudence  might  be.  Daughter, 
your  warm  heart  carried  you  away;  but  you  ought  to 
have  stopped  short  of  perjury,  for  that's  a  serious 
offence ! 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — And  Severely  puuished,  too —  You 
must  be  mighty  cautious,  Giraud,  when  you  visit  us 
here;  poor  Pamela  would  get  into  a  peck  of  trouble  if 
it  were  known  that  Monsieur  Dupre  has  been  gener- 
ous enough  to  hide  the  two  of  us  inside  his  own  house! 

351 


35^  PAMELA    GIRAL'U 

DUPRE,  who  has  resumed  his  nervous  walk. — That's  all 
right!  That's  all  right!  But  those  Rousseaus!  What 
a  mean,  ungrateful,  crowd!  They  all  believe  that 
Pamela  is  under  arrest  and  yet  they  have  not  done  a 
thing  to  help  her  out!  Jules  has  been  shipped  away 
to  Brussels,  General  de  Verby  is  enjoying  the  country 
air,  and  Monsieur  Rousseau  is  every  day  on  'Change, 
doing  business,  as  if  nothing  threatened  his  son's  pro- 
tectress! Money,  Ambition,  that's  all  their  lives  are 
made  of!  They  care  not  a  fig  for  noble  sentiments. 
They  never  stop  worshiping  the  Golden  Calf;  it 
seems  as  if  they  were  blind  to  everything  else! 

PAMELA,  who  has  noticed  Dupre's  agitatiun,  rises  and 
goes  to  him. — Monsieur  Dupre,  you  are  disturbed,  you 
seem  in  pain —     I  am  afraid  it's  all  about  poor  me! 

DUPRE. — But  do  you  not  feel  indignant  when  you 
think  that,  after  using  you  as  an  instrument,  tliis  fam- 
ily, whose  son  you  have  saved  from  certain  death,  has 
ignored  you  ever  since,  in  such  a  heartle'.s  fashion? 

PAMELA. — But  if  it  cannot  be  helped,  sir? 

DUPRE. — Ah,  dear  child,  your  heart  harbors  no  bit- 
terness! 

PAMELA. — Indeed  it  does  not,  sir;  I  am  happier  than 
any  of  them — I  feel  that  I  did  my  duty. 

.MADAMi:  GikAUD,  kissing  her. — My  poor,  dear  girl! 

DUPRE,  i-iiiniiKj  closer  to  Pamela. — Mademoiselle,  you 
are  an  honest  girl!  Nobody  knows  it  better  than  I, 
for  did  I  not  come  to  you  beseeching  you  to  tell  the- 
truth  and  have  you  not  nobly  compromised  yourself  to 
save  a  life?  Now,  these  people  ignore  you,  disown 
you,  but  1,  Pamela — I  admire  your  pure  mind,  your 
beautiful  devotion,  and  I  vvisli  to  repair  the  harm  done 
and  to  make  you  happy      I  am  forty-eight  years  old; 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  353 

I  have  some  money  and  some  reputation  as  a  lawyer; 
I  have  spent  my  life  trying  to  be  an  honest  man —  I'll 
stick  to  that  until  the  end.   Pamela,  will  you  be  my  wife? 

PAMELA,  deeply  moved. — I,  sir? 

GIRAUD. — His  wife?  Our  daughter?  I  say,  Madame 
Giraud ! 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Can  it  bc  possible? 

DUPRE. — Why  show  such  surprise?  All  I  want  you 
to  do  is  to  consult  your  heart —  To  answer  me  yes  or 
no —     I  repeat  it,  will  you  be  my  wife? 

PAMELA, — But  what  kind  of  a  man  are  you,  sir?  I 
owe  you  so  much  already — and  still  you  want  to  add  to 
it —     Ah,  never  will  my  gratitude — 

DUPRE. — Gratitude  again —  Oh,  please,  do  not  use 
that  word ;  it  has  a  bad  taste !  I  have  only  contempt 
for  what  they  call  the  world's  opinion ;  there  is  no  one 
living  to  whom  I  owe  any  account  of  my  conduct,  of 
my  affections —  Since  I  have  witnessed  your  courage, 
your  resignation,  I  have  loved  you.  I  love  you  ten- 
derly; will  you  try  to  love  me? 

PAMELA. — Yes,  yes,  yes,  sir,  I  will! 

MADAME  GIRAUD. — Who  could  help  loving  you? 

GIRAUD. — Monsieur  Dupre,  I  am  nothing  but  a  poor 
janitor — I  am  not  even  that  any  longer — but  when  you 
say  that  you  love  our  daughter,  you  must  excuse  me — 
my  eyes  are  full  of  tears  and — I  can't  find  the  words  I 
want —  {He  wipes  his  eyes.)  Ah,  but  you  are  right 
to  love  Pamela — it  shows  that  you  have  your  wits 
about  you — because,  Pamela — there  are  lots  of  land- 
lord's children  that  don't  come  up  to  her!  Just  the 
same,  it's  humiliating  for  her  to  have  a  father  and 
mother  like  us — 

PAMELA. —Oh,  father! 


354  PAMELA    OIRAUD 

GiRAUD. — You,  sir,  you  are  a  king  among  men — 
Well,  my  old  wife  and  I — we'll  go  and  hide  in  some 
nice  little  country  town,  far,  far,  away,  and  Sundays, 
at  mass-time,  you'll  think:  There  are  two  dear  old 
people  who  are  praying  for  us! 

{Pamela   kisses  her  fat  Iter  and  mother  tenderly.) 

DUPRE. — Gk)od,  honest,  people!  You  don't  want  for- 
tunes or  titles!  All  you  care  for  is  a  nice  little  village 
home —     Well,  you  shall  have  that — I'll  arrange  it  all. 

GIRAUD. — Our  gratitude — 

DUPKE. — That  word  again!  I'll  have  it  scratched  out 
of  the  dictionary!  It's  almost  as  bad  as  a  bird  of  ill- 
omen!  For  the  present,  I  will  take  you  all  to  my 
summer  place.     So,  go  home,  and  pack  up. 

GiRAUu. — Monsieur  Dupre — 

DUPRt. — What  is  it,  Giraud? 

GIRAUD. — It  is  about  that  poor  Joseph  Binet,  who  is 
also  compromised  in  this  new  atiair —  He  does  not 
know  that  you  have  given  us  a  shelter  in  your  house, 
but  three  days  ago,  he  came  to  your  servant  and 
seemed  all  broken  up  by  fright—  As  this  house  is 
God's  own  country,  he  was  given  a  nook  in  one  of 
your  garret-rooms  and  has  been  there  ever  siner. 

DUPRE. — (jo  and  tell  him  to  come  down  here. 

GiRAUD.^ — He  won't;  he  is  too  deathly  afraid  of  being 
arrested.  When  they  bring  him  food  he  can  hardly 
be  made  to  open  the  door  a  couple  of  inches — 

DUPRE. — He  will  soon  be  freed  from  this  terror — I 
am  expecting  a  letter  that  will  set  all  our  anxieties  at 
rest. 

GIRAUD. — Can  I  reassure  him,  then. 

DUPRE. — No — better  wait  until  to-night. 


TAMl-XA    G  FRAUD  355 

GiRAUD. — Then,  I'll  go  back  home  as  cautiously  as 
ever. 
{Madame  Giraud  ivalks  with  him  to  the  door  whispering 

all   sorts    of  advice.      Pamela  starts    to   folloio    her^ 

luhen    Diipre    speaks    to    her.      Exeunt    Giraud    and 

Madame  Giraud.) 

DUPRE. — This  Joseph  Binet — you  are  sure  you  do 
not  love  him? 

PAMELA. — Very,  very  sure — 

DUPRE. — And — the  other  one? 

PAMELA,  after  a  disjjlay  of  emotion  which  she  controls  at 
once. — I  shall  never  love  any  one  but  you!  (As  she  is 
about  leaving  the  room,  a  noise  is  heard  outside  and  Jiiles 
suddenly  enters.) 


SCENE    II 

Pamela.     Julks.      Dupre, 

JULES,  to  the  servant  who  tries  to  stop  him.-— Let  me  in, 
please,  I  must  see  him  without  a  minute's  delay! 
{Xoticing  Dupre.)  Ah,  sir!  What  has  become  of 
Pamela?     Is  she  free?     Is  she  in  safety. 

PAMELA,  turning  from  the  other  door  through  which  she 
zoas  about  to  leave.  — Jules ! 

JULES. — Heavens!  you  here,  Mademoiselle! 

DUPRE.  — And  you,  sir,  I  thought  you  were  in  Brus- 
sels? 

JULES. — Oh,  they  sent  me  there,  in  spite  of  my  pro- 
tests—  You  know  I  have  been  taught  blind  obedience 
to  my  parents'  will —  But  I  took  my  memories  along 
with  me!  Six  months  ago,  before  meeting  Pamela,  I 
did  risk  my  life  for  Mademoiselle  de  Verby's  hand, 


356  PAMELA    «;iRAUn 

partly  to  please  my  people's  ambition,  and  partly,  I 
must  confess,  to  satisfy  my  vanity,  for  I  hoped  to 
become  some  day  a  nobleman — I,  the  son  of  a  self- 
made  business  man!  But  I  met  Pamela  and  fell  in 
love  with  her!  You  know  the  rest —  What  was  at 
first  a  passionate  longing  turned  out  to  be  a  solemn 
duty,  and  every  hour  I  kept  away  from  her,  I  felt  more 
and  more  that  my  absence  was  an  act  of  cowardice ! 
So,  while  they  think  me  far  off  and  out  of  harm's  way, 
here  I  am  back  in  the  city  I  ought  never  to  have  left! 
She  was  to  be  arrested,  you  said  so — and  I  fled!  {To 
both  of  them.)  I  did  not  even  call  upon  you,  my 
rescuer,  who  will  also  be  hers! 

DUPRE,  looking  at  the  tiuo  young  people. — Ah,  that  is 
well  said  and  well  done.  Jules*!  At  last  I  meet  with  an 
honest,  honorable  man ' 

PAMELA,  wiping  her  tears. — C)  Lord  (iod,  I  thank 
You! 

UUPRE,  to  Jules. — And  now,  what  do  you  hope? 
What  do  you  want? 

JULES. — What  do  I  want?  I  want  to  link  my  fate  to 
hers,  to  pay  the  penalty  with  her,  or  if  God  has  pity 
on  us  to  say  to  her:  Pamela,  will  you  be  mine? 

DUPRE. — That's  all  very  nice;  there  is  but  one  diffi- 
culty in  the  way — I  am  going  to  marry  her  myself — 

JULES,  dumfounded. — You? 

DUPRE. — Yes,  I,  myself —  {Pamela  lowers  her  ei/es.) 
I  have  no  family  to  say  me  nay — 

JULES. — I'll  bring  mine  to  terms — 

DUPRE. — Oh,  they'll  send  you  back  to  Brussels. 

JULES. — I  will  go  straight  to  my  mother —  Oh,  I 
have  plenty  of  courage  when  I  need  it — I'll  brave  my 
father's  anger —     I  will  risk  the  loss  of  my  aunt's  for- 


PAMELA    (;]RAUh  357 

tune —  I  will  do  everything  that  has  to  be  done,  other- 
wise I  should  think  myself  without  dignity,  without 
honor,  without  soul.     And  then,  may  I  hope? 

DUPRE. — Are  you  asking  that  of  me? 

JULES. — Pamela,  I  beg  you,  answer! 

PAMELA,  to  Diipre. — You  have  my  word,  sir. 


SCENE    III 

The  Preceding.     A  Servant,  loho  hands  a  card 
to  Dupre. 

DUPRE,  looking  at  the  card  and  showmg  much  surprise. 
— I  declare —  {To  Jiiles.)  Do  you  know  where  Gen- 
eral de  Verby  is  now? 

JULES. — In  Normandy,  at  his  brother's  country  seat. 

DUPRE,  still  lookiiig  at  the  card. — All  right —  Now 
you  go  to  your  mother — 

JULES. — Then  you  promise  me — 

DUPRE. — I  promise  you  nothing. 

JULES. — Good-by,  Pamela!  {As  he  walks  to  the  door.) 
I  will  come  again !     {Exit  Jules. ) 

DUPRE,  turning  to  Pamela  after  Jules  has  gone. — Must 
he  come  again? 

PAMELA,  deeply  moved  throws  herself  into  his  arms. — 
Ah,  sir!     {E.vit  Pamela.) 

DUPRE,  wiping  a  tear^  as  he  sees  her  withdraw. — Grati- 
tude, indeed!  {He  goes  and  opens  a  small  door  hidden  in 
the  woodtuork.)     Come  in,  General! 


l'AMi;i.A    (;iRAUU 


SCENE   IV 

DuPKK.      Df.  Verby. 

DUPRE. — You  here,  General,  when  everybody  thinks 
you  are  fifty  leagues  away  I 

i)E  VERBY. — I  arrived  this  morning. 

DUPkE. — Some  serious  matter  must — 

DE  VERBY. — Nothinj^  personal ;  but  I  could  not  remain 
indifferent  to —  Monsieur  Dupre.  you  may  do  me  a 
kindness — 

DUPRE. — Only  too  happy,  sir,  to  be  of  any  service  to 
you. 

DE  VF.RHY. — Monsieur  Dupre,  the  circumstances 
under  which  we  met  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  appre- 
ciating your  merits.  Among^  the  men  whose  character 
and  talent  have  won  my  admiration,  you  stand  first 
and  foremost. 

DUPRE. — Ah,  (jcneral,  you  compel  me  to  answer  that 
you,  an  officer  of  the  Empire,  represent  in  my  eyes, 
by  your  courage,  your  loyalty,  your  independence,  the 
best  traditions  of  that  glorious  period.  {Aside.)  I 
guess  we  are  quits! 

DE  VERHY. — Then  I  may  count  upon  you? 

DUPRE. — Unreservedly. 

DE  VERBY. — I  desire  some  information  about  the 
young  Pamela  Giraud. 

DUPRE. — I  knew  you  would  ask  that. 

DE  VERBY. — ^The  Rousseau  family's  conduct  was 
shameful  I 

DUPRE. — Would  the  General  have  acted  any  differ- 
ently? 

DE  VERBY. — I  want  to  interfere  in  her  favor.      By  the 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  359 

way,  after  she  was  arrested  for  perjury,  how  far  did 
the  affair  proceed? 

DUPRE. — This  is  hardly  important  enough  to  interest 
you? 

DE  VERHV. — But  it  does,  just  the  same — 

DUPRE,  aside. — He  wants  to  make  me  talk,  so  as  to 
find  out  if  he  is  compromised  yet —  {Aloud.)  Gen- 
eral, there  are  men  who  keep  their  plans,  even  their 
very  thoughts,  concealed  from  any  one ;  they  are  only 
revealed  through  the  progress  of  events.  I  call  these 
strong  men.  I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  bluntness  if  I 
tell  you  that  you  are  not  one  of  them. 

DE  VERBY. — Such  language,  sir —  What  a  strange 
man  you  are  I 

DUPRE. — More  than  strange — truly  peculiar!  But, 
listen  to  me  now.  You  have  been  talking  to  me  in  a 
manner  of  assumed  indifference,  thinking  you  might, 
perhaps,  test  on  me  your  diplomatic  talents  as  a  future 
a'mbassador.  You  have  mistaken  your  man,  for  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  what  you  did  not  expect  to  reveal  to 
me.  Ambitious  and  cautious  at  the  same  time,  you 
placed  yourself  at  the  head  of  a  conspiracy  against  the 
present  regime.  When  the  plot  failed,  3'ou  gave  proof 
of  your  courage  by  striking  at  once  into  another  path, 
without  a  thought  for  the  poor  devils  imperiled  in  your 
stead.  Now,  you  have  gone  over  to  the  government 
party  and  are  counted  among  the  ultra-royalists — a 
manifest  proof  of  your  independent  spirit!  You 
expect  your  reward — the  Turin  Embassy,  they  say — 
but  you  are  deathly  afraid  that  the  arrest  of  Pamela 
and  the  re-opening  of  the  conspiracy  case  may  unmask 
you!  In  your  terror,  trembling  lest  you  lose  the 
trinket  for  which  you  allowed  others  to  pay  a  terrible 


36o  PAMELA    CIRAUI) 

price,  you  come  to  me,  flattery  and  honeyed  prom- 
ises in  your  mouth,  and  you  try  to  make  me  your 
dupe —  This  we  shall  call  a  proof  of  loyalty!  Well, 
to  shorten  this  interview,  you  are  right,  Pamela  has 
been  arrested  and  has  confessed  everything — 

DE  vKRr.v. — What  is  to  be  done? 

DUPKK. — I  know  l)ut  one  way  out:  Write  to  Jules 
that  you  release  him  from  his  pledge  to  your  niece  and 
that  Mademoiselle  de  Verby  does  the  same. 

HE  VEKBV. — You  dou't  mean  it? 

DUPRE. — You  were  saying  a  moment  ago  that  you 
despised  the  Rousscaus  for  their  shabby  conduct — 

DK  \KRHY. — Yes — but,  you  know,  promises  have  been 
exchanged — 

DUPRE. — I'll  tell  you  what  I  know.  Your  private 
fortune  is  not  sufficient  for  the  high  position  you  are 
aiming  at — and  Madame  du  Brocard,  as  silly  as  she  is 
ambitious,  has  promised  to  assist  you  if  the  marriage 
takes  place — 

DE  VERnv. — Sir,  you  are  insulting  my  personal  dig- 
nity! 

Dui'RE. — Re  that  as  it  may,  I  want  you  to  write  the 
letter  I  just  mentioned,  and  then,  then  only,  will  I 
endeavor  to  save  you  from  this  new  danger.  If  you 
rcfiise,  you  may  get  out  of  it  the  best  you  can.  AVait! 
I  hear  some  one  coming — a  client,  I  suppose— 

DE  vKRi'.Y. — I  don't  wish  to  be  seen —  Everybody 
believes  me  out  of  town,  even  the  Rousseaus. 

THE  SKkVANi,  (innointcing. — Madame  du  Brocard! 

DK  VKKHV.  — Heavens !  {He  rushes  and  conceals  himself 
in  n  cjosrf  tatlir  rif/ht.) 


PAMELA    GIRAUD  361 


SCENE    V 

DuPRE.     Madamk  du  Bkocard.      She  comes  in  with  a 

frightened  look,  tvhich  is  noticed  as  soon  as 

she  raises  a  thick  double  veil. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — I  havc  repeatedly  called  in 
the  hope  of  having  a  private  talk  with  you,  my  dear 
Monsieur  Dupre,  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  been 
fortunate  enough  to  find  you  in.     Are  we  alone? 

DUPRE,  smiling. — Quite  alone. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — It  is  truc,  then,  that  this  ter- 
rible affair  has  started  afresh? 

DUPRE. — Unfortunately  true,  Madame. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Wrctched  young  man!  If  1 
had  not  raised  him,  I  would  disinherit  him  even  now! 
For  the  last  few  days  I  have  been  beside  myself  with 
anxiety —  To  think  that  I,  whose  whole  life  has  been 
a  model  of  propriety,  earning  me  the  esteem  of  all, 
should  be  mixed  up  in  such  an  awful  muddle!  My 
silly  visit  to  the  Girauds  caused  it  all — 

DUPRE. — Of  course,  you  were  the  one  who  secured, 
by  your  eloquent  promises,  the  consent  of  Pamela  to 
act  as  she  did. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — I  tell  you,  sir,  it  is  a  terrible 
lesson!  It  teaches  one  not  to  get  intimate  with  cer- 
tain kind  of  people — with  a  Bonapartist,  for  instance 
— a  man  without  a  conscience,  without  an  honest 
heart,  even — 
{De  Verly  tvho  has  been  listening  through  the  half-opened 

door  of  the  closet   loithdraios  his  head  with   a  look  of 

disgust  on  his  face.) 

DUPRE. — You  seemed  to  think  so  much  of  hira! 


3(>2  PAMELA    GIRAUD 

MADAME  DU  RR(iCARi). — His  family  is  so  aristocratic! 
And  then,  there  was  this  brilliant  marriage — my 
nephew  for  whom  I  have  such  ambitions! 

DUPRE. — You  forget  the  General's  disinterested 
affection  for  you ! 

MADAME  j)u  nRocARij. — His  disinterested  affection! 
Why,  the  General  is  penniless  and  I  have  had  to  prom- 
ise him  one  hundred  thousand  francs  to  be  paid  him 
the  day  the  marriage  of  my  nephew  and  his  niece  is 
solemnized. 

DUPRE,  coufjhing  in  I  lie  dircclion  of  the  closet  inhere  De 
Verby  has  concealed  himself. — Hum!  Hum! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — It  is  against  the  openly 
expressed  opinion  of  this  General  de  Verby,  who 
claims  that  you  are  a  wretched  lawyer,  that  I  come  to 
you  for  advice.  I  am  ready  to  pay  you  any  fee  you 
may  ask,  if  only  you  get  me  out  of  this  awful  position. 

DUPRE. — The  first  thing  I  want  of  you,  then,  is  your 
promise  to  give  your  nephew,  whoever  may  be  the 
person  he  decides  to  marry,  the  same  amount  you 
intended  to  give  him  in  case  he  married  Mademoiselle 
de  Verby. 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — A  momcut,  pleasc — whom  do 
you  mean  by  "whoever  may  be  the  person  he  decides 
to  marry?" 

DUPRE. — Say  yes  or  no! 

MADAME  DU  HROCARD.  —  But  I   mUSt  be  told — 

DUPRE. — If  that's  so,  you  may  attend  to  your  affairs 
without  my  assistance — 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — You  are  Tcally  abusing  the 
situation  and —    Good  heavens —  vSomebody's  coming! 

DUPRE,  Innli-iiiij  hnrard  (hr  riifrfOirr  door  V'hich  is  hciv'l 
slowly  openrd. — (.)h,  it's  a  member  of  your  family! 


PAiMELA    GIRAUD  363 

MADAME  Du  liRocARD,  hastihj  glancinf/  in  (he  same 
direcHo)i. —Monsieur  Rousseau,  my  brother-in-law! 
What  can  bring  him  here?  He  had  promised  me 
solemnly  not  to  give  in  under  any  circumstance! 

uupRi:. — Oh,  you  do  lots  of  solemn  promising  in 
your  family — but  you  don't  keep  much  of  it! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — If  Only  I  could  hear  what  he 
is  going  to  say!  (As  Rousseau  enters  with  Ins  wife, 
Madame  du  Brocard  throws  herself  behind  one  of  the  heavy 
loindow  dra2Jcrics  to  the  left.) 

DUPRE,  looking  at  her. — If  the  newcomers  want  to 
hide  themselves  I  don't  know  where  I'll  put  them! 


SCENE    VI 

DuPRE.      Rousseau.      Madame  Rousseau. 

ROUSSEAU. — Monsieur  Dupre,  you  see  us — my  wife 
and  I — in  utter  despair.  Madame  du  Brocard,  my 
sister-in-law,  came  to  us  this  morning,  with  her  head 
all  filled  with  nonsense. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. —She  frightened  me  nearly  to 
death ! 

DUPRE,  offering  a  chair  to  Jfadamc  Rousseau. — Allow 
me,  Madame — 

(She  sits  doiun.) 

ROUSSEAU. — If  we  are  to  believe  her,  our  son  is  again 
in  danger. 

DUPRE. — He  is. 

ROUSSEAU. — Will  that  thing  never  end!  During  the 
months  it  has  lasted,  I  have  been  entirely  unfit  for 
business  and  I  feel  that  I  have  shortened  my  life  by 


3^4  PAMELA    GIRAUI) 

ten  yearr,.  I  have  allowed  a  number  of  splendid 
opportunities  of  making  money  to  slip  by,  to  be  picked 
np  greedily  by  my  competitors.  At  last  we  got  our 
verdict  of  acquittal,  I  breathed  freely  again!  And 
now  it  is  all  to  be  ;,^one  through  once  more;  and  my 
precious  time  is  to  be  spent  begging  everybody  I  know 
to  use  his  or  her  influence  in  our  favor!  It's  disheart- 
ening, it  is! 

DUPkK. — How  I  pity  you! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — And  Still,  wc  cannot  gire  up — 

roussf.au.— It's  all  your  fault,  Madame  Rousseau  or 
that  of  your  family!  That  sister  of  yours,  with  her 
noble  name,  who  used  to  call  me  "her  dear  Rousseau," 
and  all  because  I  happened  to  own  a  few  hundred 
thousand  francs — 

DUPRE. — Oh,  that  makes  quite  a  difference,  you 
know ! 

ROUSSEAU. — Through  ambition  and  through  vanity 
she  has  thrown  herself  at  General  de  Verby's  head— 
{I)e  Verby  and  Madame  dii  Brocard  both  peep  out  of  their 
hidinfj-places,  Usteninrj  infcnthj.)  A  nice  couple  they 
make— a  drawing-room  warrior  and  an  old  church-rat. 
{T7ic  two  irithdmir  their  heads  suddenh/.) 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — She  is  my  sister,  sir! 

DUPRE. — Really,  you  are  going  too  far! 

ROUSSEAU. — You  don't  know  them  as  I  do!  Now,  I 
come  once  more  to  you,  Monsieur  Dupre;  I  under- 
stand a  new  trial  is  to  be  ordered  shortly—  What  has 
become  of  the  little  working-girl? 

DUPRE. — The  little  working-girl  is  to  be  my  vyife,  sir. 

ROUSSEAU  and  madame  rousseau. — Your  wife! 

DE  VERBV  r?7ir/  MADAME  DU  BROCARD,    each    fmin    // M    or 

her  hidiiif/plare — His  wife! 


PAMELA    C.IRAUl)  365 

DUPRE. — I  will  marry  her  as  soon  as  she  is  free — that 
is  if  your  son  does  not  marry  her  first! 

ROUSSEAU. — He,  marry  her! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  fo  her  husband. — What  is  he  say- 
ing? 

DUPRE. — Nothing-  that  ought  to  surprise  you — 
And,  I  tell  you,  as  a  friend,  you'd  do  'veil  to  accustom 
yourselves  to  the  idea. 

ROUSSEAU,  sarcastically. — Monsieur  Dupre,  I  did  not 
care  particularly  to  have  my  son  marry  Mademoiselle 
de  Verby — the  niece  of  a  man  with  a  pretty  shady 
reputation —  It  was  this  foolish  Madame  du  Brocard 
who  was  bound  to  have  me  agree  to  the  marriage — 
But,  between  it  and  a  marriage  to  the  daughter  of  a 
janitor — 

DUPRE. — He  is  not  janitor  any  longer! 

RousssEAU. — What's  that? 

DUPRE. — He  lost  his  position  on  account  of  your 
son's  affair.  So  he  is  going  back  to  the  country  to 
live  on  the  small  pension  {Speaking  close  to  Rousseau^ s 
ear)  you'll  allow  him! 

ROUSSEAU, — Of  course,  if  you  are  joking — 

DUPRE. — I  am  not  joking  in  the  least.  Your  son 
shall  marry  their  daughter  and  you  shall  allow  the  old 
people  a  pension. 


SCENE    VII 

The  Preceding.     Joseph  Binet,  entering  pale 

with  fright. 

JOSEPH. — Monsieur   Dupre,    Monsieur    Dupre,   save 


me; 


3^6  PAMELA    CI  RAID 

rnK  THRKK  oTHKKS. — Wliat  is  it?  Wliat  is  the  mat- 
ter? 

josKPH. — Soldiers,  soldiers  on  horseback  arc  com- 
ing to  arrest  me  I 

{(ieticral  romiiiofioii.      Duprc  looks  irilh  an.rici'/  foii'drd  the 
inner  roo))i  w/tcrc  are  Pamela  and  her  mother.) 

j)UPRE,  to  Josepli. — To  arrest  you? 

JOSEPH. — I  tell  you,  I  saw  one  entering  the  house — I 
hear  him  coming  up  the  stairs!  O,  hide  mc,  hide 
me  I —  {He  rus/tes  to  the  closet  from  which  De  Vcrlni 
rmerf/es  with  an  '■''Ah!''''  of  disma//.  Thrn  Joseph  dashes 
lo  the  window  draperies  from  Ijehind  whirJt  Madame  dn 
Brocard  runs  out  crying  ^'■Ifcavots!^') 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. — My  sistcr ! 

ROUSSEAU. — General  de  Verbyl 

{The  door  is  thrown  open.) 

JOSEPH,  dropping  into  a  chair  at  the  rear  of  t lie  stage. — 
We  are  all  done  for! 

A  SERVANT,  handing  a  large  sealed  envelope  to  Dupre. — 
From  his  Excellency,  the  Minister  of  Justice. 

DUPRE,  addressing  the  four  others  .standing  in  a  row  at 
the  front  of  the  stage.  lie  speaks  slowly  and  impressircly. 
— Now,  I  am  going  to  leave  3'ou  alone,  the  four  of  you. 
You,  who  have  such  high  esteem  for  each  other,  give 
a  serious  thought  to  the  young  maiden,  who  has  sacri- 
ficed everything  for  your  sake,  and  whom  you  have  so 
cruelly  treated!  The  time  has  come  for  you  to  repair 
the  harm  you  have  done  her;  and  it  is  your  last 
chance.  You  must  act  at  once,  in  this  room.  After 
that,  and  that  only,  will  I  rescue  you  from  your  ])res- 
ent  danger — that  is,  if  you  show  yourselves  worth  the 
trouble.      {Krif  Duprc.) 


PAMELA    (HRAL'l)  367 


SCENE   VII 


The  Preceding,  minus  Dupre.      {They  look  at  each 
other ^  greatly  embarrassed.) 

JOSEPH,  coming  to  them. — I  say,  we  are  in  a  tight 
place — we  are.  {To  De  Verhy.)  You  know,  in  prison, 
you'll  have  to  take  care  of  me,  General,  for  my  purse 
is  as  light  as  my  heart  is  heavy.  {De  Verby  turns  his 
back  to  him.  Joseph .  addressing  Roussean.)  By  the 
way,  I  was  promised  something —  {Roussean  walks  off 
without  ayisioering.  Joseph  addressing  Madame  du 
Brocard.)  Don't  you  remember  that  something  was 
promised  me — 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Nevcr  uiiud  just  uow. 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,  to  Joscph. — But  why  are  you 
afraid?  How  do  you  happen  to  be  here?  Were  you 
tracked  by  the  police? 

JOSEPH. — No,  I  wasn't!  For  four  days  I  have  been 
in  this  house  hidden  in  the  garret  like  an  insect —  I 
fled  to  it,  when  I  discovered  that  Father  and  Mother 
Giraud  had  been  spirited  away  and  Pamela  locked  up 
in  jail —  Oh,  I  am  not  going  to  be  caught  napping — 
If  the  police  ever  lay  their  hands  on  me  I  am  going  to 
peach,  and  right  away,  too!  I  did  lie  in  court — that's 
a  fact,  but  I  am  going  to  tell  the  story  from  start  to 
finish  before  I  let  go — I'll  denounce  everybody! 

DE  VERBY,  to  hvmself. — It  has  to  be  done!  {He  sits  at 
one  of  the  desks  and  begins  to  write.) 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Oh,  wrctched  Jules,  who  is 
the  cause  of  it  all ! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU,    to   her  husband. — You  see,   that 


3(>^  PAMELA    C.TRAUD 

lawyer  holds  us  all —     We  shall  be  forced  to  give  our 
consent! 

{DeVerhji  risen  from  the  desk,      ^fadamc  du  Brorard 

fakes  his  place  and  writes  rapidly.) 
MADAME   ROUSSEAU,  to  her  husband. — Dear  husband, 
do  it,  do  it,  at  once! 

ROUSSEAU,  tahiiuj  a   resohition. — I   may  promise   that 
cursed  lawyer  all  he   wants!     What   does   it   matter? 
Jules  is  in  Brussels! 
{The  door   is  thrown  open:    terrijied  excUnnation  from 
Joseph.     Dnpre  appears,  alone.) 


SCENE    IX 

Thi.  Prkceding.      Duprf. 

DUPRE. — Well?  (Madanif  dii  JJrncnrd  hands  him  the 
letter  he  has  asked  for.  De  Ver/fi/  also  presents  him  a 
letter,  and  while  Rousseau,  to  ichom  Dnpre  immediatehj 
passes  it,  reads  it  tcith  sif/ns  of  surprise,  the  General  leaves 
the  roo?n  without  bowing  to  ajn/bodi/  and  with  a  scowl  of 
rage  on  his  face.)     And  you,  Monsieur  Rousseau? 

ROUSSEAU. — I  leave  my  son  free  to  act  as  he  pleases 
in  the  matter. 

.MADAMK  ROUSSEAU,  dclighli'd. — Dear  husband! 

DUPRE,  aside. — He  thinks  his  son  far  from  here. 

ROUSSEAU. — But  Jules  is  in  I'lrussels  and  nothinj;^ 
can  be  done  \mtil  his  return. 

DUPRE. — Of  course,  of  course,  nothini,-"  can  be  con- 
cluded without  his  presence — 

ROUSSEAU. — That's  it;  later — when  he  reiiirns — 

DUPRE. — As  soon  as  he  returns? 


PAMliLA    GIRAUI)  3<^9 

ROUSSEAU. — Certainly,  certainly —  (Aside.)  I  will 
take  good  care  that  he  stays  there  a  good,  long 
time — 

DUPRE,  walking  to  the  door  to  the  left  and  opening  it. — 
Come  in,  my  young  friend,  and  thank  your  parents 
and  your  aunt,  who  consent  to  everything ! 

MADAME  ROUSSEAU. My  JulcS  ! 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — My  Uephcw! 

JULES. — Is  this  really  possible? 

DUPRE,  throwing  02)en  the  other  door. — And  you, 
Pamela,  my  child,  my  daughter!  Kiss  your  husband! 
{Jules  rushes  to  her.) 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — What  docs  all  this  mean? 

DUPRE. — It  means  that  she  has  not  been  arrested  and 
never  will  be !  It  means  that  although  I  have  no  han- 
dle to  my  name  and  no  brother  in  the  House  of  Peers, 
I  still  possess  just  a  trifle  of  influence.  It  means  that 
the  touching  devotion  of  Pamela  has  found  sympa- 
thizers among  those  in  power.  It  means  that  the 
whole  case  has  been  pigeon-holed  and  that  the 
mounted  soldier  who  rode  to  my  door  came  from  the 
Minister  with  the  glad  news!  The  poltroon,  over 
there,  took  him  for  a  whole  regiment ! 

JOSEPH. — One  can't  see  distinctly  from  a  garret-win- 
dow— 

MADAME  DU  BROCARD. — Mousieur  Dupre,  you  have 
deceived  us;  I  take  back  my  word — 

DUPRE. — But  I  keep  your  letter —  You  want  a  law- 
suit?    All  right,  I'll  argue  the  case  in  court. 

MADAME  GiRAUD  and  GiRAUD,  ivho  havc  entered  the 
room. — Monsieur  Dupre! 

DUPRE,  to  them. — Well,  are  you  pleased  with  me? 
{Jules  and  Madame  Rousseau  have  moved  close  to  Jious- 


370  PAME1>A     C.IRAUl) 

srau  and  arc  besccchi))t/  him  to  give  his  full  consent.  After 
refusing  awhile,  he  finally  yields  and  impresses  a  fatherly 
kiss  on  Pamela's  brow.  Dupre  at  onre  yues  to  him  and 
taking  hiin  by  the  hand  says):  You  arc  doing  the  right 
thing,  sir!     {To  Jules.)     Will  you  make  her  happy? 

JULES. — Indeed  I  will,  my  excellent  friend! 
{Pamela  raises   Dupre's  hand  to  her  lips   with  a   look  of 
deep  affection.) 

JOSEPH,  to  Duprc. — What  a  fool  I  am!  He  is  to 
marry  her,  and  yet  I  feel  tears  of  joy  in  my  eyes! 
By  the  way,  what  am  I  to  get  out  of  the  whole  affair? 

DUPRE,  laughiny. — I  make  you  a  present  of  my  law 
yer's  fees — 

JOSEPH. — Oh,  sir,  count  upon  my  gratitude — 

DUPRE. — I  accept  it  as  receipt  in  full! 

(FlN.VL   CURT.AIN.) 


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